Blank
by Jessa4865
Summary: An accident and the aftermath. EO Complete
1. Chapter 1

Blank  
Jezyk  
Spoilers: Anything through season 9 is fair game.  
Disclaimer: If they were mine, I'd still be writing and they'd still be getting paid. Doesn't sound so bad now, does it?

Chapter One

She could hear nothing beside the sound of her own breath, coming in hard pants. Her lungs were crying out for her to stop running, but she ignored them. She had no choice. Concentrating on her aching legs took her mind off her pained lungs. No matter what kind of shape she was in, a twenty minute sprint after a man with several inches on her took everything she had to give.

She would have happily abandoned her pursuit, turned her lead over to another detective for a few minutes while she recovered. But she'd lost Elliot at the last turn, several blocks back – the perp was a skinny, weasley, wiry sort of guy who'd shimmied through a chained fence just a second before Elliot would have caught him. Elliot was without question the faster of the partners, but Olivia was skinnier and had no trouble continuing the chase when Elliot looked for another way around, since the barbed wire prevented even his second choice of scaling it.

Olivia was also perfectly willing to forever give up any notion of fashion, swearing off ever wearing heels again, regardless of how Elliot would tower over her, provided her feet would stop screaming in pain with each pounding stride.

None of her physical pain really mattered, she reasoned. She'd be able to stop soon enough. She'd get a few gulps of air and have a nice long ride back to the precinct in the cruiser with her shoes off while she ignored Elliot's cracks about how jeans and sneakers were a much better choice.

She was only a few feet behind the perp, a disgusting, perverted, sicko with a penchant for handcuffs and toddlers. She even told herself it was better that she apprehend him than Elliot because Elliot's rage tended to get the better of him when kids were involved and she really wasn't in the mood to get a lecture about police brutality from Cragen.

She was in excellent shape, prided herself on being so, because of that very situation. Because deep down she resented that Elliot was taller and faster and stronger simply because he was a man. And she suspected that she would let a bit of that fury out on the perp as soon as she caught him. She was sure to catch him too, she knew, because after such a long, unforgiving pace, he'd darted into a building on the riverfront, a sure sign he was getting tired.

Her adrenaline would carry her through to the end, allowing her the last bit of strength to prevail when the creep's own strength would leave him.

She lifted her radio, breathlessly spitting out the best directions she could to Elliot and the uniforms who were trying to locate them. She could hear their sirens getting closer in response to her words as she slowed her steps. Her boots were nearly silent on the concrete when she crept through the door into the dark building. She knew she needed to be careful, following blind and without immediate backup. But he had only had a few seconds head start on her and she expected he would be looking to hide and recover from the run rather than start a fist fight with her.

She thought wrong.

For a moment it seemed the darkness of the warehouse suddenly reached out to grab her. It was in slow motion as she heard a rush of wind by her right ear. And then something big and hard and unyielding slammed into her head.

She didn't feel it when she hit the ground, but she knew she had. There was utter darkness around her, so complete that she couldn't even tell if her eyes were opened or closed. An unmerciful throbbing pain in her head brought tears to her eyes. Despite her wounded condition and the exhaustion, she tried to get her bearings.

She heard nothing. Nothing at all.

Nothing to tell her what was going on.

Nothing to tell her where she was.

She allowed herself a moment of silent panic, even hearing the sirens which revealed the police presence close by. She wasn't going to cry. She wasn't going to scream. She was going to keep herself under control.

It was only a moment later when the darkness was invaded by sunlight. The volume of the sirens grew by leaps and bounds as the doors were propped opened by the uniformed officers. She watched them from her position on the floor as one of them turned to call to someone she couldn't see.

"She's here, Detective."

A moment later, the dark shadow filled the doorway. "Liv?"

She realized she should get up and started to lift herself off the ground. By the time she'd made it to her elbows, the shadow was beside her.

His hand settled against her back, helping her to a sitting position. "What happened?"

Shaking her head only made it hurt, she discovered. "Got hit with something." The wooden beam next to her appeared to be the culprit; the blood smeared along the side was the dead giveaway.

"Let's get you up." He turned away, motioning to one of the crowds of officers milling around. "Radio for a bus."

The younger man nodded. "Already done. They're on the way."

He turned back to her. "Need help?" His face was slightly suspicious when she nodded, but he offered his hands to her anyway.

She smiled gratefully, letting him support a good portion of her weight. "Thanks." Immediately on standing, she swayed a little.

"You ok there?" His hand pressed against her back, helping to steady her.

"I'm a little dizzy, actually. I'd like to sit down." She expected her words would be met with sympathy or support or at least agreement.

Instead, he stared at her. "What?"

"Never mind. It's ok." She went to take a step, found that it was more difficult than she'd expected, and reached out to grab hold of the closest officer.

But his hands closed around her waist, keeping her on her feet. "Hey, I've got you."

Irritated, but dependent on him to stand, she reluctantly tried to smile. "Thanks."

He led her to the steps by the door, lowering her to rest on the top one. "The bus'll be here in a minute, Liv." She looked at him to nod and his eyes caught on something. His hand grazed her chin, slowly reaching up to the side of her head. "Damn, he nailed you, didn't he?"

She winced when his fingers found what she knew was probably a nasty lump. "Apparently."

"It's probably just a concussion. We'll get you looked at and then get you home." He stayed beside her, his shoulder pressing against hers. "Ok?"

She nodded, knowing it was a lie. She felt guilty for it as soon as she did. He was being nice to her, taking care of her and she was repaying him by lying. Her face turned toward him, carefully studying his face until he turned to look at her. "Sorry."

He smiled, a warmth coming to his incredibly bright eyes. "For what?"

She met his stare, feeling a frightening unfamiliarity and emptiness when she did. "Who are you?"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

She had no idea silence could be so loud.

The man who'd been so kind and helpful to her said nothing. He just stared at her.

She sighed, suspecting he wasn't just some cop who'd come looking for her. Not that it would have made sense, considering that she really had no idea what she was doing that had resulted in her getting hit with a piece of wood.

His shock wore off, his face twisting between concern and anger. "You're kidding, right? Tell me you're kidding."

She didn't know what to say. She looked down, noticing the shiny badge clipped to her waist for the first time. Pulling it loose, she held it up and ran her fingers over it. "So I guess I know you, huh?"

"Please tell me this is the most un-amusing joke you've ever played on me." His eyes searched hers. "I swear to God if this is a joke, I'm going to hurt you."

She was mesmerized by his face, watching emotions dance across it. He was attractive, very much so, and she was glad that she knew him well enough for him to be worried. Shaking her head, she averted her eyes. It probably wouldn't be a good idea to stare at him, even if he was handsome.

His hand touched her chin, tilting her face up towards his again. "You're dead serious, aren't you?"

She nodded, reaching up to move his hand. Seeing a ring on his left hand and none on her own, she realized it wouldn't be right to let him touch her like that. A siren called her attention away and she looked up to see an ambulance pulling up among the police cars. "That's for me, right?"

He nodded, automatically reaching to help her. A tight, uncomfortable smile locked in place when she tripped and fell against his chest. "Are you still dizzy or did you forget how to walk?"

She grumbled at herself, embarrassed for needing so much help with something so simple. "I can walk just fine. It's the damn ground that keeps spinning."

The tight smile spread suddenly into a full, genuine one. "That sounds like my Liv."

Her brow furrowed and she stumbled again. "Your Liv?" If that were the case, she was the other woman. She had no idea what sort of person she was, but she already didn't like herself.

He looked uncomfortable as he scanned the area for any possible witnesses. "I – uh – I meant –" He stopped and cleared his throat as though that might hide how flustered he was. "You're my partner. That's what I meant."

She laughed. She couldn't help it. "Uh huh. Sure. Whatever you say." She didn't know what to make of the distress on his face, so she ignored it. He was too protective, too worried, too entrenched in her personal space for partnership to cover it. She filed it away to take up with him when she got her memory back.

As they approached the ambulance crew, one of the men stepped forward. "We got a call about an injured officer?"

Liv raised her hand uncomfortably. "Somebody hit me with something."

Her partner took out his phone and started to dial, even while helping her into the ambulance. "Something being a two by four. And she neglected to mention that she can't remember anything."

The phone in his hand connected and the other man's voice was so loud everyone in the bus could hear it. "What's the problem? Do you have him in custody?"

Grimacing, he looked at Liv. "No, cap, he attacked Liv, knocked her out."

His voice was softer, but Olivia could still hear every word. She wondered why she hadn't ever mentioned to him that none of his conversations were private, but she thought it might have something to do with the woman she was the other woman to. Maybe Liv liked to listen in. She was sickened by the thought, but she listened to the other man's words anyway. "Is she ok?"

He grimaced again. "No. She doesn't know who I am."

There was another period of dead silence, something Olivia was beginning to suspect meant no one believed her. Maybe Liv was a liar too. "Is this some kind of a joke?"

"No, cap, seriously, she has amnesia or something. The bus just got here. I'll keep you posted." He closed the phone and tuned back into the conversation between Olivia and the medic.

"So you have amnesia?"

Olivia shrugged. "It would appear that way."

"But you know what amnesia is?"

Olivia glared at her partner, somehow instinctively knowing she did not like medics talking to her. "I'm injured, not retarded." He snickered, alerting Olivia to the fact that a lot of her personality was clearly inherent rather than learned.

"I've never worked with amnesia before. Despite what the soaps would have you believe, it's really very uncommon."

Olivia tried to smile. "Lucky me."

"Do you know your name?"

She jerked her thumb at her partner. "He called me Liv."

The medic nodded. "How about your last name?"

She shrugged. "Not a clue."

"What's his name?"

Olivia shrugged. "He's my partner."

The medic looked intrigued. "Do you remember that or did he tell you?"

Her eyes darted toward her partner, still curious as to his name, but thinking she might be able to put one over on him. His eyes were locked on hers and his head slowly nodded. Nope, he wasn't a sucker, that was for sure. Reluctantly, she told the truth. "He told me."

"Do you know the date?" When his question was meant with another shrug, the young man tried again. "The year? Month? Anything?"

She rolled her eyes and turned away, watching the handsome face of the man beside her contort with worry. She reached out and took his hand. "It's ok. I'm fine."

He shook his head. "You're not fine, Liv."

"Sure I am. I just can't remember anything."

"And you can't walk either."

She grinned, amazed that her grin spread immediately onto his face. "I told you I can walk."

He nodded, unable to wipe the smile off. "Right, it's the ground that's spinning."

Clearing his throat, the medic insinuated himself back in the conversation. "Can you give me any biographical info? Your age, birthday, where you were born, your mother's name?"

She tried for a long moment, but came up with nothing. "No, nothing, but yes, I do know what biographical means. Don't ask me how cause I don't remember that either."

He moved on then, examining her and prodding the painful lump on the side of her head. "I don't think you'll need stitches, but the ER docs can tell you for sure."

She shook her head, almost sick at the throbbing that accompanied the movement. "I don't need to go to the hospital. I just want to go home."

The medic smiled, a condescending, conceited smile. "Do you know where home is?"

Her own face fell and she swallowed hard. "No." She looked at her partner. "But you probably know, right?"

He shook his head. "Don't even try it with me. You're going to the hospital."

"I know I don't like hospitals. Does that count?" She didn't know him well enough to not be hopeful.

"No, it doesn't because no one likes hospitals."

"I don't like you either." She turned away, crossing her arms over her chest.

He leaned over, snagging her hand and squeezing it. "You're going to be fine, Liv."

Comforted by the gesture, she left her hand resting in his. "Whatever you say." She found herself searching for his eyes, feeling a connection there that she didn't remember and couldn't explain. It brought a smile to her face. "I'm glad you're my partner."

He smiled. "I'm glad you're mine."

"But I still don't know your name."

He moved closer once again, that time pressing a kiss against her temple. "I'm Elliot."

His kiss made her giggle. She glanced at the medic who was filling out paperwork as they rode to the hospital. Then she looked at Elliot. "And we're just friends, right?"

Something sparked in his eyes, something so strong she could almost feel the heat. "No, we're not friends. We're partners."

"And what does that mean?" She really had nothing to go on, but her relationship with the man seemed terribly familiar and intimate. Then again, it was the only relationship she had and it had lasted all of five minutes.

"It means we're partners." He shrugged.

She nodded. "Yeah, that's helpful." They lapsed into silence for the remainder of the ride, each lost in their own thoughts and drawing strength from their entwined hands.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

The medic hadn't been joking about the rarity of amnesia. Olivia didn't catch on immediately, however, when the fifth doctor popped his head in to 'examine' her, she realized that she'd become a curiosity. It wasn't a feeling she enjoyed and it wasn't an experience she was going to put up with either.

She carefully lowered herself from the bed, tentatively finding her balance. The dizziness wasn't nearly as bad as it had been, but she was still a little shaky. She gripped the doorway for extra support and leaned her head out, searching for the only thing she knew. Conveniently, she decided it was also the only thing that would help her since the hospital staff clearly wasn't going to.

She spied him not ten feet away, pacing nervously. Tall, hot, and far too worried about her to be just friends. Amnesia or not, she was a lucky girl. She smiled to herself.

Before she was able to call him, another man stepped in front of her. He, as opposed to Elliot, was not attractive. Or welcome. She pulled back slightly as she studied him. His little boy hair-cut. His slightly stupid smile. His eager face. He was gullible. She could tell. He was also an ass-kisser. She knew that much just looking at him.

"Hi, Olivia. I'm Chester Lake. We work in the same unit. Or do you remember that?"

Hearing that she worked with him, she tried to hide her grimace, but she was fairly certain that she failed entirely. "No, I don't."

His smile didn't fade as she thought it should have. It was kind of like hearing someone really was paralyzed. There should have been a dent in his glee. "It would be kind of nice having to start all over. Forget lots of things you don't want to remember, right?"

She kind of wanted to smack him, but she wasn't sure if he was a superior in some way and therefore was afraid to take any such action.

Another man stepped up, saving Olivia from having to respond. "Damn, Lake, back up. Give the woman some room." The man, whose tough appearance probably scared a lot of people, turned a kind smile in her direction. "Don't pay attention to him, Olivia." He offered his hand. "Friends call me Fin."

"You mean like a fish?" She hadn't expected that and a frown crossed her face. "Are you sure they're friends?"

He grinned, his hand moving to wrap around her shoulders, hugging her against his side. His attention went to Elliot and the man sitting close by. "You hear that? She's still in there. I think our girl just wanted a few vacation days."

She didn't know Fin, not anymore than she knew Elliot, but she decided she could trust him. Mostly because Elliot saw Fin's arm around her and didn't get mad. She smiled at him, not expecting the rush of warmth when his eyes met hers after so short a time apart. It made her tingle.

"What did the doctor say?" Elliot moved to her side, replacing Fin, but his arms didn't move from his side. Whatever they were to each other, she suspected their coworkers weren't privy to the information either. The only one who knew was Elliot and he didn't appear to be explaining.

She shrugged. "Nothing. He said he'd be back, but then about a hundred of his friends came in and asked me stupid questions. I think I'm their entertainment for the evening."

The bald man joined in the conversation. "What sort of questions?"

"Oh, sorry, Liv, this is Don Cragen." Elliot motioned at the man who politely offered his hand to shake. "He's our captain."

The man's concern was obvious as he smiled at her and shook his head. "You don't remember any of us?" She shook her head, hoping it wouldn't have an impact on the career she hoped she liked. "Not even him?" His finger pointed at Elliot, a hint of a snicker in his voice.

She shook her head again and found her hands clinging to Elliot's arm suddenly. "No, but I like him."

Cragen didn't bother to hold back the snicker then; neither did Fin, who apparently found the comment hilarious.

Olivia looked at Elliot. He shrugged. She felt she needed to defend herself. "It's probably because he was the first person who talked to me when I woke up. It probably happens to everyone, except the doctors are too busy asking me who the president is to give me any valuable information."

Her last comment got Elliot's full attention. "And the answer to that would be?"

"Nope, not a clue, and yet I know that the president is the head of the executive branch of the government. And I know the other two branches are the legislative and the judicial, but don't ask me anyone in those branches." She really wished someone could explain to her why she knew everything she'd learned in school, but she couldn't remember where or when she'd gone to school.

Cragen seemed as amused by her as everyone else. "That's bizarre. It's just personal information you can't remember?"

Her hold on Elliot's arm tightened. "I really want to go home."

The arm she was attached to moved suddenly, folding around her waist protectively. "Why don't we go find the doctor and see what he can tell us?" He led her away from her coworkers. "Sorry."

"For what?" She was just thankful he'd separated her from people with whom she no longer had anything in common.

"If I'd known you were finished, I would have kept them away from you." He glanced over his shoulder at them. "Nosy bunch, aren't they?"

"I wasn't exactly finished." She avoided the accusing stare he turned her way. "They were making me uncomfortable."

His eyes darkened. "Who was? How? Did they touch you?"

Putting her hands on his chest to settle him, she laughed. "Down boy. They were just fascinated by me. That's all." She marveled at his overreaction. "What's with you?"

Sighing, he put his hands in his pockets. "I should probably tell you that we work special victims."

She imagined in her short circuited brain somewhere that meant something. But until she could access that, which she didn't know would ever happen, she had to rely on Elliot to tell her what she needed to know, especially since she hadn't yet met a single person she felt like she could trust besides him. "What sort of special victims?"

He looked pained for a moment. "It's not really important, let's find the doctor."

"Ok." She really wanted to know, but she wasn't going to press him. Trust or not, she didn't really know how he would react to her demanding to know. If he got mad and left, she'd be on her own. She much preferred having someone around to help her. She smiled at him, letting her hand find his. "Lead the way."

His eyes widened as they moved to their connected hands. After a moment, he nodded and mumbled something under his breath. "Yeah, ok."

The doctor was less than helpful. Olivia imagined that had she needed those stitches, he might have been slightly more useful. Instead he gave them a lot of nonsense, basically saying that amnesia was an uncommon result from a head injury and that she had a 50-50 chance of regaining her memories and that there was nothing he could do to help the process. He suggested a psychological consult, which Olivia flat refused. She didn't know what was in her head, but she knew she didn't want someone else poking around in there. The doctor wanted to admit her and run more tests, but Olivia begged.

And begged and begged and begged.

Finally, Elliot relented and agreed to stay with her at the doctor's insistence. According to the doctor, she needed some supervision until they verified the knowledge that she seemed to have retained. There was no way to be sure where her memories stopped. She could leave the gas on, he suggested, or touch a hot stove or walk into traffic. It irritated Olivia that the doctor spoke to Elliot like she wasn't there, but she swallowed the hurt pride down. She was happy to have Elliot staying with her, so she could put up with it for the time being. With a promise that he would bring her back if she showed any other symptoms, Elliot was allowed to take her home. Olivia listened while he arranged for someone to take over their work for the day.

The taxi was taking forever and Olivia was exhausted. She couldn't say what she'd been doing that day that exhausted her, but then again, she couldn't say what her last name was either. Her eyes fell on the plastic bracelet the nurse had fastened around her wrist.

Benson, Olivia. 11/04/69.

So she had her name and birthday. If she could only find out what year it was, she'd know how old she was too.

Since they were stuck in traffic and Elliot gave every impression that he was resigned to a long cab ride, she figured she should do the same. Yawning, she leaned her head on his shoulder. She felt him start, surprise tensing his muscles under her. He said nothing.

Still she felt she should explain herself as it was rapidly becoming clear that touching him wasn't something she usually did. Strange, considering what information she had on their relationship and the way he tried to take care of her. "I'm tired."

There was a smile in his voice as his arm moved around her shoulders, nestling her closer to his side. "I guess the amnesia didn't make your body forget about your little marathon this afternoon."

"Huh?" She was too tired to look up, but she felt a slight pressure on the top of her head. She wanted to believe it was a kiss, but it could just as well have been his chin coming to rest on her head. Either way, she smiled. He might not be used to her touching him, but he didn't mind it. She decided she'd keep being affectionate and encouraging him to be the same way. Eventually he'd have to give her more details about them. Or they'd wind up in bed. She wouldn't mind both.

"Nothing. Get some rest. I'll wake you when we get there."

She fell asleep listening to the impatient sounds of traffic and the steady beating of his heart.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

She awoke to a gentle shaking of her shoulder. There was a disconcerting moment of blind panic she would soon learn to recognize upon waking with amnesia.

But just as quickly, there was a soothing voice and a warm smile and a friendly pair of eyes. "It's ok, Liv. It's just me. You're home."

Her heart was still racing and, after a few deep breaths, she realized she was still clutching his shirt in terror. Smoothing out the wrinkles she'd made in his blue dress shirt, she tried to hide her fear behind a smile. "I guess I'm a little jumpy."

His own fear reflected for a moment. "You know who I am, right?"

Her eyes narrowed and she thought maybe she had forgotten again. She didn't know if it was really possible to wind up in a repetitive loop of wiping the slate clean, but maybe it was. Maybe every time she woke up, she would think she'd only been asleep for a short time when that wasn't really the case. Panic overtook her and she gripped his shirt again, so tightly she heard a hiss as her nails caught skin.

"What did I forget this time?" Her eyes filled with tears as she looked at him.

He winced as he looked at the cab driver. "I'm hoping you only forgot that you don't like to embarrass yourself in public."

She looked around and saw the thoroughly amused cabbie flashing her a toothless grin. Her stomach flipped over and she thought she might be sick. "You're Elliot, right? My partner. That's all I remember you telling me. Please don't tell me there was more!"

The cabbie's smile widened as he leered at her. "Hey, sweetheart, you must have forgot I'm your husband. Come on up here with me. I'll help you remember."

As she whimpered, she saw a wad of bills smack into the divider. "Asshole!" Elliot grabbed her wrist and pulled her out of the cab.

Unfortunately, she wasn't any less confused or afraid as she stared at Elliot. Tears were making their way down her face and she wanted nothing more than to bury herself in his arms until she felt better. But his eyes were still flashing with fire and she didn't know if he was mad at her or not.

His hand stayed locked around her wrist while the other moved up to cup her cheek. "Sorry. I figured I didn't stand a chance of solving both problems at once." He wiped at the tears that weren't stopping. "You knew a lot more than my name this morning, but as far as I can tell, you're only suffering from one bout of amnesia." He offered her a smile and turned away, seeming to believe that his vague reassurance was going to help.

Words were not going to fix the frightened way her heart continued to pound. Nor would it fix the way her whole body was trembling. She dove at him head first, trying to burrow her face into his neck as the rest of her body melded into his.

It felt like forever before his arms folded around her, pulling her across whatever fraction of measurable distance there was left between them. His face tucked down next to her ear as he rubbed her back. "I'm sorry, Liv. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. It's ok. You're safe." He held her for a long moment before he pulled back to smile at her. "I won't let anything happen to you."

Drawing in a shaky breath, she nodded. "I thought I'd forgotten everything again." Her words were soft as she allowed him to lead her to the stairs.

He stopped about halfway there. "We should probably check your mail, right? I don't want to be responsible for your electric getting shut off."

She remained mute while he picked through what were apparently her keys, looking for the one to her mailbox. She watched while he gathered up a few envelopes and a couple of catalogs. She followed him back to the stairs.

As he was pushing open the door, he looked down at her feet. "What do you say we take the elevator tonight?"

She nodded. Her feet hurt terribly and she wondered what had possessed her to participate in that marathon he'd mentioned while she was wearing four inch heels. His fingers pressed the button for the fifth floor and she turned back to him. "I live on the fifth floor?" He nodded. "And I normally take the stairs?" He nodded again. "And I run in these shoes?" He looked at her feet again before nodding a third time. "Do I have any sense at all?"

He chuckled and passed through the open doors towards her apartment. "First of all, I'm pretty sure you wear those shoes just so you can stare me down. Besides that, yes, you do have sense. You're usually far more sensible than I am." He shrugged at her and unlocked her door. "You like to problem solve whereas I like to use my fists to solve problems." He put his arm across the doorjamb, blocking her entrance and catching her eye. "And when you get your memory back, I fully expect you'll pretend to forget that I ever admitted that."

She nodded and ducked under his arm, taking in her apartment for the first time. It was furnished, but not decorated. "How long have I lived here?" She was expecting an answer in months, possibly weeks. There had to be unpacked boxes where she kept her personal things, things she hadn't found time to arrange yet.

He was closing and locking the door and therefore missed the displeasure written on her face. "You've been here as long as I've known you. I don't know how long before that."

She sat down gingerly on the couch, which she found was far more comfortable than she would have thought. "And how long have I known you?" If she'd only been in her apartment for a few weeks, that would explain a lot. But it wouldn't explain the closeness with Elliot.

He smiled, certainly far more comfortable than she was when he went into the kitchen, grabbed two beers, and plopped down beside her with his feet propped up on the coffee table. "A decade, give or take."

She bit her lip and sighed before she leaned back to settle next to him. "I have no memory, no sense and no decorating skills. Is there anything I'm good at?"

It could have been the dim glow of the only light he'd turned on. It could have been the remnants of sleep clinging to her brain. It could have been the head injury itself.

But she was sure she saw him wink.

And his voice was at least an octave lower when he let a sexy grin spread across his face. "You're good at a lot of things, Liv."

Somehow, she suspected they weren't things she could list on a resume.

She was trembling a moment later when she stood up, shakily stepping toward the kitchen. "Can I get a glass of water?"

"Damn, how did I forget your head? I'll just have to drink both of these." He motioned at the beers.

She doubted he'd have much of a problem finishing two since he downed half the first one in one gulp. But as sexy as the man was, he sure was good at being completely distracted from her. "Elliot?" He looked at her inquisitively. "Water?"

He shook his head. "No, thanks. I'm good."

"I meant for me. Can I get some?"

He was quiet, like he was trying to decide if it was a trick question. "This is your apartment."

She nodded. "Right, but at the moment, you know me better than I do. Would I want a stranger going through my stuff?"

"You're not a stranger, Liv." Perplexed though he was, he stood up and followed her to the kitchen. "You'd die before you'd drink tap water." He pulled open the fridge and handed her a bottle of water. "Why don't you go look around? Maybe something will jog your memory."

He retreated to the living room. The monotone drone of the newscasters filled the silence, leaving her with no option of replying. She held tight to the bottle of water, holding it like a tether to Elliot, as she started poking around her own unfamiliar place. The first door she tried was a closet, brimming with coats and boots. A hundred different colors of hats and gloves filled the shelf and she shook her head, wondering why she had so many. Probably a different set to go with each coat, she decided adding a checkmark next to anal retentive in her personality inventory. Elliot liked her and Elliot was a decent guy. Still, Olivia couldn't help but wonder if she would really like herself. She decided to give Elliot the benefit of the doubt and continued her exploration.

Her bathroom was pretty simple, beige tiles, blue mat, blue towels and a beige shower curtain decorated with seashells. The towels were neatly folded. The cord to her blow-dryer was untangled. The counter by the sink was clean and orderly, except for the unzipped makeup bag. She must have been in a hurry that morning because the mascara wasn't quite sealed. Olivia tightened the cap, put it in the bag, and zipped it up. She inspected the tub, the inside of the shower curtain, and the corner behind the toilet. Checking the cabinet under the sink, she found a half-used box of tampons, a mostly empty spray bottle of multi-surface cleaner, and a pair of stained sponges, but there was no dust or dirty fingerprints or cobwebs. Happy to discover that she was adept at cleaning, she moved on to the bedroom through the second door in the bathroom.

Having seen the arranged bathroom, she determined she'd really been in a hurry that morning because the bed lay unmade. The comforter was soft and thick, boasting a pale rose color that immediately rubbed Olivia the wrong way. The sheets were stripped white and matching rose. She switched on the lamp and looked around. There was a small pile of clothes that all appeared to be jackets or pants. Probably dry cleaning – a quick check of the tag revealed her assessment was right. Her bureau housed a picture frame, a faded picture of a little girl holding a small gray kitten with two white feet. Curious, she slid the picture out to look at the back. 'Olivia, age 3, and Mittens.' The handwriting was neat and loopy. She decided it was her mother's writing and replaced the picture carefully.

She opened the drawers, one at a time, investigating the contents. The first drawer was lingerie, tossed in a messy heap. Grinning, she unchecked anal retentive from her list. The next two drawers held t-shirts and some tops, less than neatly folded. The other two drawers were filled with exercise clothes – sports bras and shorts and pants. The top of the dresser held a small wooden jewelry box, holding a meager amount of jewelry, mostly plain gold or silver earrings and necklaces and one ring with a small yellowish stone. She held it up to look for an inscription. It was mostly worn off, but it appeared to be for a sixteenth something. She imagined it was her birthstone and frowned, wishing it had been something prettier, maybe blue to match a lot of the clothes she'd found. Closing the box, she inspected the only other thing on the dresser – a bottle of perfume. It was mostly gone and she was delighted to recognize the scent when she held it to her nose. The glee didn't last long enough for her to call Elliot before she realized the smell was coming from her shirt. So much for jogging a memory.

She moved to the closet, finding mostly black suits, some sweaters, and a few pairs of slacks in other colors. Digging in the back, she came up with three dresses. One was fire engine red, full length, with a slit up to somewhere Olivia couldn't imagine would be appropriate in public. She laughed, wondering what Elliot would think of it. Maybe she'd model it for him later. The other two dresses were black. One was knee length, with no sleeves and a round neckline, and she suspected one of the multitude of black blazers went with it. The other was certainly above the knee on her, made of something stretchy and clingy. The long sleeves were a nod to modesty, but the lack of a back and deep dip in the front erased any idea of modesty in the same breath. On the opposite side of her closet she found a zipped garment bag and she nearly squealed. A wedding dress, perhaps a prom dress, could even be her mother's wedding gown. She was grinning when she unzipped the bag. She was utterly disappointed to find it only held a dress police uniform with patches and pins and insignia she didn't recognize. Frustrated, she put it back and closed the door.

Purposely avoiding the mirror above the dresser, she sat down on the bed to examine the contents of the nightstands. The drawer in the first one she checked was boring. It held a small notebook with some numbers scribbled on it, a pen, and some lip balm. The only thing on top was an alarm clock, which revealed that she opted to wake at quarter after five. Checking her wrist watch and finding that it was almost seven, she was no longer even the least bit ashamed at having fallen asleep in the cab. Not with the hours she kept.

The other nightstand was slightly more interesting. The drawer was so full she could barely get it open, loaded with all sorts of crap. Her junk drawer apparently. She was mortified to identify the top item, the one closest to the front and most likely to have been accessed recently, as a box of condoms. Afraid that Elliot would appear and either want to use them or not, she slammed the drawer closed and looked at the framed photos lining the top instead. The first one made her smile, a teenage girl in a school uniform, clutching a fat gray cat to her chest. She slipped the picture loose to check and found a sloppy scrawl that read 'Me + Mittens, 1986.' She set that picture back and picked up the next, an older woman who had the same dark eyes, half smiling, holding a glass of wine in a toast to the photographer, in front of a crooked Christmas tree. When she pulled it loose, it had only been labeled with '1997' and a question mark. She wondered why she couldn't accurately date the photo that she assumed was of her mother.

There were two more pictures in a larger frame that was hinged in the center. Both pictures were remarkably alike for pictures that were obviously years apart. The one on the left was of her and Elliot, except that he looked a lot younger. Her hair was almost shoulder length, the same dark brown that was almost black she'd seen in the other pictures of herself. They were sitting next to each other at a picnic table, his hand just peeking around the far side of her waist. Her head was angled toward his. They both had huge grins on their faces, probably due to the laughing kids in their laps – a boy in hers, a girl in his. Again, there was no label and she wondered who the kids were. On the right side picture, they were next to each other, standing instead. Her arm was around his waist; his was around her shoulders. They'd both leaned toward each other so that his cheek was resting on her head, which she saw was topped with an odd tanish-brown bleach job and a cut that made Marines look rather lenient with the shears. Again, there were kids in the picture, but they were grinning blonde girls who could easily have been late teens or early twenties. There were many more lines on both hers and Elliot's faces in the second picture, but what caught her eye was that it was Elliot's left arm that was draped over her shoulder, his left hand falling forward on her chest. The left hand that wasn't wearing a wedding ring. Thoroughly confused, she checked the back and found nothing.

She was making a mental note to start labeling her pictures when she realized she wasn't alone. Elliot was standing in the doorway. His suit coat was gone, as was his tie, the top three buttons of his shirt were undone, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to the elbows. A beer dangled from his fingers.

"It got quiet out there. Whacha up to?" He approached and sat down beside her on the bed.

"I was just looking at these pictures. Besides you, no one seems familiar."

He motioned at the one of her as a teenager. "Not even you?"

She shook her head. "Haven't looked in the mirror yet."

"That must be weird. Not recognizing yourself." His eyes were intent on hers and she felt a blush spring up in response.

"I'm afraid to look." She tugged at the plastic bracelet she hadn't taken off. "I know I was born in 1969, but I don't know how long ago that was."

Pulling his keys from his pocket, he held one of them against the thin edge of the plastic and jerked. The only piece of identification she could swear was her own fell to the floor. "I hate those things." She watched him replace the keys and thus missed his other hand moving until he pushed her hair back from her face. "There's no reason to be afraid of the mirror, Liv. You're absolutely beautiful." His eyes held hers, imprisoning her with his stare and his proximity and his scent.

Embarrassed and unnerved by the intensity she saw in his eyes, she offered him the joined frames. "When are these from?"

It took him a minute to refocus, but he did, a smile warming his face. "I didn't know you had these." He pointed at the first one, tracing his fingers over the children's faces. "This was a Fourth of July picnic, nine years ago, I think. You came with Kathy and me and the kids." He pointed at each of the kids in turn. "These are two of my kids. Dickie and his twin sister Lizzie. They're nearly sixteen now."

She marveled at the young faces. "Wow. We have known each other a long time."

He nodded. "And this one was probably two years ago?" He didn't sound sure. "That's Kathleen and Maureen, two more of my kids." He thought about it for a minute. "Yeah, it would have to be two years ago – your hair was a lot longer last year."

She didn't even have time to wonder why he paid enough attention to her hair to be able to use it to date photos. Or to wonder just how many kids the man had.

His hand was back on her, combing through her hair. "It was weird seeing you with it long. You looked so different. I didn't like it at the time. It reminded me that you and I were-" His eyes fell from hers and he pulled his hand away, replacing the frame on the nightstand. "Never mind, it's not important."

She caught his hand, thinking he was hiding something that she needed to know. "No, what?" He looked at her and she could see his indecision. "Please? I have nothing unless you give it to me."

He nodded slowly, taking a deep breath and then smiling at her. "We were going through a rough patch. We kind of grew apart there." He shrugged and she noticed he was so close that she felt his shrug more than saw it. "I'm pretty sure it was all my fault. I was being a shit when Kathy was divorcing me." She saw the way he twisted the wedding ring on his finger. "But everything's back to normal now and," he paused to look back at her, his fingers finding their way back into her hair, "and now I kind of miss it being long."

"I'm sure there's a reason I keep it short." The conversation seemed to be heading into dangerous territory, although the only clue she had was the pounding of her heart.

His eyes were sliding all over her face and his hand hadn't moved from where it just barely cupped the back of her head. He didn't look like he'd heard her.

She noticed when his eyes stilled, finally coming to rest on her lips. Her mouth dropped open, in shock rather than invitation, but she realized he probably didn't know the difference.

Because his face was moving closer and his hand was holding her still.

And before she could even form the thought that she, the new she who had only existed for a few hours, had never been kissed, his lips pressed against hers. His mouth was hungry and his tongue insistent. She didn't have a chance to be nervous or scared as she opened her mouth fully to his, allowing his tongue to probe against her own.

She had only instinct to go on and all of her instincts told her to trust him.

So she offered no resistance when she felt his weight shifting, pushing her down on the bed.


	5. Chapter 5

AN: _So sorry for the delay... unexpected vacation surprise!_

Chapter Five

She felt like she imagined teenagers might feel, fumbling around for the first time. Terrified. Turned on. Emotional. Confused. She didn't know what she was doing. She didn't know if she was kissing right. She didn't know if she'd been with him in such a position before; she didn't know if he noticed or cared about a difference in her response. But her body seemed to know what it was doing without her conscious input. Her hands roamed freely over his back, feeling the thick muscles moving under his skin as he supported himself above her. His whole body was pressing against hers, allowing her to feel how very much he wanted her. She had no experience, none that she could recall at least, but it seemed that he'd reacted to the contact so fast that he must have been anticipating it, or perhaps simply wanting it for a very long time.

His mouth held hers for what seemed like forever, convincing her that whatever she was doing was fine by him. His lips slowly moved away from hers, grazing her cheek and chin before settling in for a more determined examination of her neck. She felt him nip at the base of her throat, at the tender skin along the exposed portion of her collarbone. She barely noticed his balance shift to one arm or when he tugged her shirt loose from her pants, but she definitely felt it when he slipped under her shirt to caress the skin of her stomach and side. Her legs moved on their own, shifting her hips against his and drawing a gasp from both of them as his erection pressed hard against her. It felt so good that her fingers curled tightly, nails digging into his flesh right through his shirt.

Or maybe that was from the way his teeth had latched onto her earlobe as he sucked on in.

Just friends my ass, she thought.

She thought about the condoms too, the ones she'd just found in the drawer of her nightstand. She wondered if he was the reason she kept them. She wondered if she should mention that she had them. She wondered when was the appropriate time to mention such a thing.

She wondered why his mouth, which had been doing unspeakably glorious things to her body, was hovering several inches above her. It was hanging open and he was staring at her. Deciding she must have done something wrong, missed some cue as to what she was supposed to do, she attempted to make up for it. She lifted her head, closing the distance between them and claiming his lips.

He responded immediately, lowering his head back down to continue the kiss. She congratulated herself for getting it right.

But then he pulled back again, straightening his arms as he pushed himself further away. He was shaking his head and his mouth was moving. He was mumbling something, but she couldn't understand him. She didn't want to. She only wanted to figure out how to reattach his lips to her skin. He had moved back to a sitting position. She followed, doing her best to lessen the space between them. She'd much preferred it when his body had been resting on hers, keeping the maximum amount of contact possible while they were still clothed. She reached for him, trying to get a hold on his shirt to pull him back to her.

He caught her hands before she succeeded in grabbing him, holding her wrists gently but firmly away from him. Her eyes darted to his, trying to read him, trying to figure out what she'd done. He gave nothing away except that he was clearly upset, horrified actually, by something.

She couldn't believe she'd screwed up so badly. Her chin started to tremble, fearing he was so upset that he would leave her completely alone. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to – did I do something wrong? I didn't mean it. Just tell me what happened and I'll-"

He put a finger to her lips to silence her. "I shouldn't have done that." His head ducked down and she could see that he was trembling when he took a breath. He continued without looking at her and she hated that he wouldn't give her the comfort of eye contact. "I'm sorry, Liv. I'm so, so sorry." He stood up, shaking his head, as his face crumbled. "Please forgive me for that."

Then he was gone, disappearing from her room so quickly she questioned for a moment if the whole thing had happened or if she'd simply imagined the interlude. Her own legs were shaky as she gave chase. She had to stop him before he abandoned her. The last thing she wanted was to be alone with her thoughts, the thoughts that would fixate on what awful thing she'd done that had sent him scurrying from her when his body so clearly wanted to stay. She felt tears forming, knowing that whatever she'd done must have been truly hideous to merit such a reaction from him.

She found him on the couch with his face in his hands. "Elliot?" She stood in the hall, leaning in the doorway. She didn't want to crowd him for fear he'd run further.

He was still mumbling and shaking his head, but she got the distinct impression he wasn't talking to anyone, except possibly god. He did look up, indicating that he'd heard her, but he didn't say a word, at least not to her.

"I'm sorry. I really don't know what I did." She looked down, feeling her cheeks burning in embarrassment. "I don't remember anything, Elliot, I didn't know what I was doing." It was a hard thing to admit because she had the sense to know that she should have known, that any other day, she would have known. She stared at the carpeting and wondered how long it would take him to answer. It took much longer than she expected and finally, she looked up when the curiosity outweighed the anxiety.

He was staring at her, his face scrunched and twisted in visible hurt. His mouth worked and moved, but no sound came out. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. He closed his eyes and finally croaked out words. "It's not you. You didn't do anything wrong."

Trusting his words, she felt more comfortable going into the living room to sit beside him. "Then what happened?"

He turned away to stare straight ahead, shaking his head again. "I forgot for a moment." He winced, his unhappiness with someone considerably more obvious than the source. And then his hand covered hers, his warmth infusing her with heat once again. A rueful smile formed on his lips as he half glanced at her. "For a minute there, it was just you and me and none of the other bullshit, you know?" His hand released hers. "I wasn't thinking that you didn't remember me. Or us."

She smiled, not fully comprehending what he was trying to tell her. "I thought there was no us."

His eyes darted to hers and she knew he expected they would dart away just as quickly. Instead, the moment his eyes found hers, a startling, irresistible heat filled the air between them, holding them hostage with its searing grasp. Rather than the response he'd planned, Elliot could only stare at her. He wanted to kiss her again, she could read that much even in a face that was technically unfamiliar to her.

What she hadn't anticipated was her own reaction to him, even having experienced the brief exchange in the bedroom. She could feel her body's reaction to him, to his stare, to his desire. Her body was drawn to his, yearning for his touch, as though it remembered a nexus that her mind did not. It seemed there was a magnetic force pulling her into his arms and it took all of her strength to resist it.

She could hardly blame him for having kissed her; she wouldn't have blamed him if he'd given into the pull himself and kissed her again. In fact, she kind of hoped he would.

Eventually, he managed to drag his eyes away, clearing his throat and pressing his fists into his thighs. "You might look at me and see a stranger, Liv, but when I look at you, I don't. I see you, the same as you always have been." He shook his head. "But different. Open. Willing. Like you wanted me to kiss you. I don't know. I can't explain it."

It hit her like a ton of bricks. What he was trying to tell her, what he'd been struggling with when he ran from her, was simply that he didn't like her. Well, he didn't like her as much as he liked the woman he knew. Who, evidently, she only sort of resembled. She took a breath, fighting to get it past the painful clenching in her chest. She nodded, wondering if her voice would reveal the way she was aching. "Right, ok. I'm sorry. I didn't realize-"

"Shhh." He reached out for her hand again. His eyes moved toward her, but they stopped a little shy of meeting hers. "You didn't do anything wrong, Liv. I mean that. I never should have touched you. I should have remembered that you're not really you." His fingers traced lightly over her palm. She wondered if he felt the shudder that ran through her. If he did, he didn't give any indication.

"You weren't wrong either." Her voice was stronger, but still soft. Her chest was still constricted with the pain of rejection. "I did want you to kiss me."

"But it's not your body. You can't consent to anything unless you remember your life. You might as well be drunk." He pulled his hand back, letting a frustrated sigh explain why he'd cut short the contact she was reveling in. "It's worse than being drunk. At least when you're drunk you still have some concept of who you are." He stood up suddenly, disappearing into the kitchen while Olivia stared after him. He returned quickly, holding another beer which was already half gone. "I'm a fucking monster. Jumping you when you have no one else to turn to." He dropped into the arm chair on the other side of the table. "As soon as you get your memory back, I want you to press charges. I had no right and I'm sorry and I promise I won't deny it."

She wanted to argue, scream that it was her body, even if she had no idea what she would normally do with it, but there was no point. Elliot wasn't about to change his mind. The fact was that he wouldn't listen to a word she said, not really. He'd given that much away with his words – no matter what she said, he wouldn't believe any of it until she was back to normal. The whole idea was crushingly painful, but she refused to think about it until she was alone. She wanted to argue, to tell him that she did know him, to explain how her body recognized him, to demand to know why he was the only thing she felt any connection to when she didn't even recognize herself.

Standing up, she stepped next to him and waited until he looked at her. As much as she knew it was pointless to fight, she couldn't resist it. "It is my body. I did want you to kiss me. That's all there is to it."

He looked up at her, his eyes hooded with guilt and self-reproach. "If you did, it only proves my point. If I'd kissed you any other day, you would have shot me. And as soon as you get your memory back you probably will." He looked down at his hands twisting in his lap.

"I can tell you right now that is categorically untrue." She squatted down to get his attention, demanding that he look at her by leaning in until he did. "That's one thing I'm certain of, Elliot." And she was. Because the attraction, the familiarity, the emotional entanglement between them had survived the amnesia that had stolen everything else from her. Whatever they shared, it existed on an inherent, intrinsic, instinctive level. It wasn't something that could be denied.

"If you wanted me to kiss you so bad, don't you think it would have happened by now?" His eyes were all over, like he knew he'd kiss her again given a chance and he didn't have a clue what to do about it.

"Honestly, with what I feel, I don't know how it hasn't happened by now." And it was true. She had been attracted to him the moment she saw him. She couldn't imagine the blinding desire to touch him ever fading away. But when she thought about his words, he'd given her part of the answer she'd been questioning about their relationship. "We've really never kissed before?"

He shook his head slowly before dropping it into his hands. "Jesus, what the hell is wrong with me?"

She knew he was dead serious, convinced he'd done something wrong, but she didn't know what to do to diffuse that situation. So she reached for one of his wrists, pulling his hand away until she could see his face. She grinned. "I don't know what's wrong with you, but I guess it's a good thing I lost my memory or you never would have made a move."

His initial response was a smile, a faint hint of a laugh as he met her gaze. But it was gone that fast and she realized he'd done it again, in that one second, forgotten that she wasn't the woman he knew. And for a moment, she felt terribly sorry for him. It wasn't confusing to her – she didn't have another version of Elliot with whom to confuse him.

His hand moved to her face, only barely making contact with her cheek. "I'm sorry, Liv. I swear I didn't mean to hurt you. I never meant to take advantage of you. Please remember that when you come back, ok?"

She stood up, hating that he was talking to her like she was her own damn secretary. "What if she's not coming back?" It was a possibility the doctor had mentioned, one that he'd only vaguely glossed over because, Olivia figured, spending more time on it might make people like Elliot very angry.

Figuring her mention of such bad news would have the same effect on him, she didn't wait around to hear his answer. She walked away and closed her bedroom door behind her, knowing Elliot wasn't going to come anywhere near her for the rest of the night.


	6. Chapter 6

Judging from how tired she'd been in the cab, Olivia expected that she could use a good night's sleep. Her mind kept returning to the grimy floor of the warehouse and the multitude of people who'd poked and prodded her, so she decided a hot shower was needed first. She didn't think Elliot would come near her, but even so, she contemplated the lock on the bathroom door and wondered if Liv was the type who would lock it regardless of who was on the other side.

Olivia decided to leave it closed, but unlocked. Maybe she was wrong, but Elliot hadn't struck her as the type to barge in on anyone, especially not her with the way he'd been berating himself for touching her. She started the water, turning the dial fully to hot and allowing steam to permeate both the bathroom and bedroom. There was a thick pink robe hanging on the back of the door next to a light blue nightshirt.

It struck her then, staring at two items that should have been intimately familiar, that she'd suffered a terrible loss. She'd spent the evening concentrating on understanding, on figuring out who she was, what she was like, but she hadn't felt much of anything. There'd been fear, of course, a base instinctual reaction to her confusion. She was afraid of everything, not knowing what to say or do or how to act and constantly questioning if her decisions would have been the same had she had even an inkling of who she really was. However, because the fear was at the bottom of everything, she'd overlooked it. She'd accepted it logically as necessary for her survival.

But the loss was a new feeling, a hollow, painful hole in her soul. She sat down on the edge of the tub, trying to comprehend the full situation. She was no one. She had nothing. She didn't know what her favorite color was. She didn't know what she liked to eat. She didn't know if she had a boyfriend. She couldn't identify her first love, her own address, her parents' faces, or even her pocketbook. As tears began to mingle with the steam collecting on her cheeks, she hated that she didn't even know if she was to sort of woman who would cry at the drop of a hat or if she preferred to keep it all inside.

She wrapped her arms around her middle tightly to console herself. She couldn't, wouldn't, turn to Elliot. Because he honestly didn't know her. He knew Liv, he cared about Liv, he was there waiting for Liv to reappear.

But she was Olivia. A blank slate. An empty page that she couldn't write on.

Because if she were to make any decisions on her own, she knew they would only be temporary. At least, she could only expect them to be temporary – decisions that would be unmade and changed and erased as soon as Liv came back. Whenever that was.

And that knowledge, especially coupled with the idea that Olivia might live everyday of her life until the day she died waiting for someone who was never coming back, made her feel like shit. She was a person of no consequence. Someone who existed only to fill a void. Someone who would immediately disappear and never be remembered or missed.

She stayed there, long after the water had run cold and annihilated the warm, comforting fog that surrounded her, until she realized she had a new feeling. She hated Liv. Whoever that woman was whose mere existence threatened her own, Olivia hated her. She didn't want to wear her clothes or sleep on her sheets or use her soap. Olivia wanted all new things. She wanted to go to a store and buy some clothes and toiletries and bedding. She wanted to start fresh. With a more defined purpose, she stood up, turned off the water, and walked toward the living room.

Having long since abandoned the ridiculous shoes the other woman chose, Olivia's bare feet made no sound as she covered the tile floor. But she paused outside the kitchen, her ears pricking at the sound of Elliot's voice, soft yet angry. She peeked over the breakfast bar, trying to determine if he was on the phone or if someone had stopped by. Seeing no one, she stayed where she was, not caring if Liv would have eavesdropped or not. Olivia wanted to know what was going on.

Of course, the moment she made that decision, he stopped saying much of anything.

"Yeah…It'll be fine… I know… I'm sorry."

There was quiet for a long time, but she didn't move. She figured it would be more obvious when he actually hung up.

"Just tell Lizzie that I'm sorry." His sigh was so loud she wondered if the neighbors heard it. "Damn it, just put her on the phone and I'll tell her myself then." She watched in amazement as he picked up one of the catalogs that came with her mail and hurled it across the room. His head turned suddenly, as though he'd feared she might have her it, and he watched the hallway. Olivia was glad she'd concealed herself in the kitchen.

Just in case, she grabbed a box from the cabinet and pretended to be fascinated with the ingredient list. It wouldn't due to piss the man off, not when he obviously had issues controlling his temper.

"God damn it, Kathy! Olivia is hurt and I'm staying here." Due to the volume of his phone that she'd noticed earlier, she could hear the noise of a woman yelling, although she couldn't hear what was being said. "You know, I would have thought you of all people would understand someone not wanting to be alone when they're injured." Another catalog sailed through the air and Olivia idly hoped there was nothing fragile in the room for him to throw. "Fine. Do whatever you want. I'm not leaving her." He stopped for a moment, leaving Olivia to think about how staunchly he was defending her need for him. "I'm not having this discus-" His word cut off suddenly and Olivia froze, her eyes darting back to the box of crackers, hoping her presence hadn't been the cause of his sudden silence.

But when he continued again, the hard edge to his voice actually sent chills through her. "Go to hell. I'll see you in court then."

Forgetting about the crackers, and the reasons she'd had for going out there in the first place, Olivia backed up, not stopping until she'd very carefully closed the bedroom door behind her. What she'd heard scared her. Scared her so much that she wondered if maybe some of that fear was coming from whatever of Liv was still buried inside her.

Because she was pretty certain that her friend-partner-maybe lover-whatever had just separated from his wife.

Because of her.

There were footsteps in the hall, sending Olivia into a full-on panic. She'd been standing there, thinking she'd found safety in her room, but she'd been wrong. Elliot was a detective, which meant he'd probably notice that her hair wasn't wet from the shower and that she hadn't changed her clothes and that her eyes were probably still red from crying. She dove for the bed, pulling the covers up to her chin and praying he hadn't caught her spying.

She needn't have been so scared because rather than striding into her room, he only knocked softly. She wanted to call out to him, to let him know she was there, to listen to whatever he wanted to tell her. But her voice wouldn't respond and she angrily thought it preferred Liv's commands to hers. The idea made her wonder, yet again, what Liv would have done in that situation. Knowing something she wasn't supposed to know – would she have answered his attempt to seek comfort from her or would she have turned him away?

Something inside her told her that Liv would run and hide, something that told her that was clearly the case or she and Elliot certainly would have kissed in all the time they'd been together. Of course, his words could have been untrue, perhaps to spare him the discomfort of cheating on Liv with Olivia.

"Good night, Liv." His voice was soft, almost a whisper, and the dejected tone told her she'd been right about the hiding. He didn't seem surprised that she wouldn't talk to him.

It about broke her heart and luckily, it also broke Liv's strangle hold on Olivia's ability to speak. "El?"

There was a pause, maybe as he questioned his luck, before he pushed open the door. Olivia sat up, trying to feign having just woken up. She smiled as she searched his face for any sign that he'd just had a marriage-ending argument with his wife.

"I just wanted to check on you." Unlike the previous time, he stayed in the hall, not even opening the door fully. "See how you're doing."

She wished she could think of some way to get him to talk, to admit to her what she already knew, and then she thought better of it. Olivia was terribly curious to see how, if, his behavior with her would change. "I'm tired."

He nodded, pulling the door closer to him. "Sorry I woke you."

"It's ok." She was kind of hoping he was looking for somewhere to sleep. She wondered if she should invite him. But then she feared it would be too presumptuous, too obvious that she knew what had just happened.

"I'll be in the living room if you need me."

The wheels started to turn immediately as she tried to come up with a valid reason to need him. Unfortunately, she couldn't think of anything.

"Go back to sleep. Night." He pulled the door closed behind him without waiting for her response.

She was quite irritated with herself for having let him get away and she made a decision. Maybe Liv was happy with keeping their relationship the way it was. Maybe Liv was going to reappear at any moment. But until that happened, Olivia was going to make her own decisions.

And her first decision was that she was going after Elliot. No sense in giving him another opportunity to go back to his wife, the wife he'd admitted had tried to divorce him before. She wasn't about to let him slip away without a fight.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

She expected sleep would come quickly, the only real comfort she'd found had been the few minutes of rest in the cab with Elliot. But every time her body fully relaxed and her mind started to drift, something inside her would panic. It felt like she was forgetting something, an idea that caused her to snicker angrily. Of course she was forgetting something. She was forgetting everything.

Still, there was something about the darkness and the quiet that terrified her.

She switched on the lamp on her bedside table and settled back in bed. But then she felt stupid, trying to sleep fully dressed with the light on. If Elliot were to check on her again, he'd think she was a freak. So she got up, heading for the nightshirt in the bathroom. It fit her loosely, hanging down to almost her knees. She didn't like it at all.

Tossing it on the floor, she started opening drawers until she found a tank top and pants. Comfortable enough to sleep in, she knew, and flattering enough, she thought with a grin, to catch Elliot's attention in the morning. Determined not to give into her fears, she turned off the light and climbed back in bed.

But the shadows were still taunting her, whispering to her that there were plenty of things to be afraid of, if only she could remember them, promising her that they remembered her even if she didn't remember them. She decided to open the bedroom door a bit, rationalizing that Elliot was there and would be easy enough to get to if she needed him.

Sleep did come eventually, her upset and confusion finally giving way to sheer exhaustion in the wee hours.

But there was little rest. What the head injury had blocked from her consciousness was still there, completely intact, hiding in the recesses of her brain, just waiting for the opportunity to spring forth. It was the same stuff that stopped Liv long before she got too drunk, that kept her from confiding in people, that prevented her from ever really processing all the horrors she saw in her life.

The images were dark and ugly and scary and angry and bloody and painful. She saw dead babies and hurt women and terrorized men. She saw monsters in the guise of normal people. She saw evil lurking in the most harmless of places. She felt hatred and violence and obsession directed at her. No one and nowhere and nothing was safe. Not ever. She couldn't breathe, choking on sobs and fear, fighting past the threatening hands on her. She couldn't move, her own terror working with the faceless shadows to keep her prisoner. Finally, she managed to take in a breath, only to have it escape in the most horrific scream she could imagine. She was in hell. Absolute hell. She wanted to die; she was that scared.

The hands continued to paw at her, never giving her a chance to escape, even if her shaking, sobbing body had been willing to cooperate. She heard a whimper, a terrified, traumatized whimper in a small, broken voice, and was horrified to realize it had come from her. With all her strength, she fought against the demons, willing her uncooperative body to follow her commands, demanding that she at least try to survive.

But it was useless, the grip was too tight, too strong, to escape and she felt her pathetic muscles giving out on her. Tears were pouring from her eyes when she gave in, realizing that she would never get free.

Rather than continuing to attack her, the arms were gentle, holding her softly, keeping her shuddering body cradled against something strong and warm. The hands were caressing her, lightly running over the bare skin of her arms and shoulders and back. The sounds that had been tormenting and inhuman were different, warm and soothing and so familiar. Her face instinctively moved toward them, finding his face next to hers, listening to the reassurances he was offering.

"Shush, it's ok, baby. I've got you."

She twisted toward him, fear still coursing through her, and wrapped her arms around him. If the move was unfamiliar to him, he gave no indication as he welcomed her touch. His hand cupped the back of her head, continuing to issue promises that she was safe, as she sobbed in his arms.

She didn't know how long she stayed there, hysterical and crying and sniffling and hiccupping, but he didn't try to move her. His hands moved over her, as comforting as his voice, with promises that her nightmares weren't real, that it was all ok, that she was perfectly safe. Olivia relaxed against him, thinking the only sleep she would ever get would be while she was in his arms. The dreams, the nightmares, had been so bad that she never wanted to dare close her eyes alone again.

Her heart was still slamming into her chest and her body was still shivering. He'd settled himself against the headboard, keeping her in his lap and covering her with a blanket. Even as sleep began to over take him, even after his hands had stilled and his hold had loosened, his arms were still around her, his warmth promising to keep her safe.

She didn't want to sleep, not even with him right there. She didn't feel safe. She doubted she ever would again. She didn't want him to sleep either. Turning her face up slightly from the protection of his neck, she whispered in his ear. "It was horrible."

One of his hands rubbed over her back before settling at her waist again. "I know. It's ok. Go back to sleep."

She shook her head. "I'm afraid." And she was, terrified of the ideas in her head, despising herself for dreaming them up.

"It was just a dream, Liv. Nothing's going to hurt you." His hold tightened again, pressing her into his chest. "I'm here, Liv. You can sleep."

She shook her head again, more emphatic in her response. "No, no, you don't understand." A sob unexpectedly escaped, distorting her voice. "The things I saw the people the –oh, God, why did I think of that, of those horrible things-" She could barely force out the words as the images came back unbidden. Death and rape and pain and hideous scenes painted with blood. "I can't. I can't. I don't ever want to sleep." She actually tried to push out of his arms, shaking her head in an attempt to rid herself of the ideas. "I want this stuff out of my head. What's wrong with me?" She wanted a shower. She wanted to stand under the hot spray and scrub at her head until she was clean. Really clean, from the inside out.

His arms fought her, refusing to give her any space, pulling her closer than she had been, as though he was trying to fuse their bodies into one. "There's nothing wrong with you, Liv." He shook his head, tears forming in his eyes as he spoke. "You can't get it out of your head. No one can. It's just there."

"No, no, people don't think these things." She began to rock back and forth, pulling him with her since he wouldn't allow her any room. "Please make it stop."

He finally released her, letting her sit back enough to look him in the eye. "I can't."

"What did I do? Did I do something awful? Why do I see this stuff?"

He shook his head and moved his hands to her face, letting them slip back to lace through her hair. "No, Liv, it's just what we do." His thumbs moved forward, brushing at her tears. "Don't think about it. Just don't. That's all we can do."

"What do you mean, it's what we do?" A cold shiver of fear shook her. "I thought we were cops."

He shook his head and averted his eyes. "It's Special Victims, Liv. They don't leave you. Ever." When she tried to ask him what that meant, how that explained the repulsive things she saw, he refused to explain it. Instead his hands cupped her cheeks and he looked into her eyes. "You never let me protect you. This is my chance. Don't think about it anymore. You'll remember it soon enough. I'm not going to tell you about awful things, Liv."

She couldn't imagine the way she had to live, the things she had to see, the rules she must have to put around herself to keep from falling apart. Just like that, she didn't hate Liv anymore, not with what she could see of the woman's strength. But she sure as hell didn't want to be her either.

She nodded, accepting his offer of whatever protection she could find. "I don't want to remember."

"You don't have to." There was something in his eyes, a promise, an oath, that he would stay with her, that he would still be her friend, that he would respect her, even if she never returned to the woman he knew. The love was so obvious in his gaze that she couldn't believe there was really nothing between them. The way he was looking at her was practically an admission that something was going on.

And when he moved a moment later, covering her lips with his, she had all the proof she needed.

The kiss was like the first, the same unbelievable intensity, the same passionate response from his body. His hands wove through her hair, pinning her face to his. Her arms looped around him, not giving him any space to get away. She was in a much better position, she realized, because being in his lap gave her the control. Shifting her legs, she felt his burgeoning erection. She was killing two birds with one stone – keeping her mind occupied away from her dreams and scoring her man in the process.

Her hips' realignment did not go unnoticed by Elliot. His hands released her hair and moved down to her waist, pulling her down while he thrust up.

It was the most perfectly wonderful feeling she'd ever felt.

Not that it was saying a lot, she knew, but she suspected she'd feel that way even if she had full command of her memories.

But just as quickly as she thought she was going to get what she wanted, his embrace turned cold. His mouth abandoned hers, his hands shoved her body off his. He didn't even look at where she'd fallen when he sprung from the bed and tore through the door.

What the fuck.

Rubbing her hand over her sore hip where she'd hit the nightstand, due entirely to Elliot's thoughtless actions, she wondered what she was supposed to do. He wanted her. Obviously. She wanted him. Obviously. His marriage was over. She had no idea what was stopping him, especially since her nightmares revealed that Liv was alive and well somewhere in there.

A few angry, silent minutes later, she made her way out of the bedroom. He was in the kitchen, a half drank glass of orange juice beside him on the counter. His chest was heaving and he looked angry. But the moment he noticed her, she watched his eyes widen, taking in her close-fitting clothing like he hadn't been able to while she was under the covers. He no longer seemed at all angry when she stepped in front of him. His body betrayed him, his still hard length rubbing her as she closed the distance between them.

"Don't run away from me, Elliot." Then she took charge, grabbing his head and pulling it down to hers, her tongue invading his half-open mouth before he probably realized what she was doing.

The kiss was much shorter, but it ended much the same way, with his hands gripping her wrists, then shoving her harshly, violently away from him.

"Stop it." His voice was loud and angry and she didn't like that it was directed at her.

"Why?" Boldly she stepped forward, indication the erection tenting his pants. "You don't really want that and we both know it."

Anger flashed in his eyes and he snarled. That was all the warning she got. The glass sailed past her head a moment later, raining juice and glass over her when it shattered against the cabinet behind her.

"Get the fuck away from me!"

She shrieked from the ferocity of his voice, from the intimidating way he stepped toward her.

The next thing she heard was the front door slamming behind him. She sank to her knees, amid the shards and liquid, wondering if he was ever coming back, unsure how she would face the dark without knowing he was there, wishing she could remember something that would fix what she'd just ruined.

And terrified that Elliot wasn't as perfect as he'd seemed. She'd already witnessed his inability to control his temper several times that night. Overwhelming fear consumed her that some of the images in her nightmares were sparked by the furious brutality she suspected could stem from him. Perhaps that was the reason he didn't want to tell her about them. Perhaps he was the reason she didn't want to remember.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Shaking, she fought for the millionth time to find a memory. Was it possible that she was a battered woman? Could Elliot be one of those charming, handsome men who unleashed his demons on a smaller, weaker person?

She didn't feel the cold liquid soaking her pants. She didn't feel the pieces of glass cutting into her skin. She was busy, examining what she could see of her body. Her bare arms held some bruises, some new and purple, some old and brown. There were scars too, the ages of which she couldn't even begin to guess, except for one. It ran along the length of her left forearm, the shiny, pink puckering terribly new against the tan of her skin. It was mostly straight, a bit jagged at the ends.

A knife. She somehow knew it, although she couldn't say from instinct or recollection.

Failing to uncover any definitive memories, she tried to envision Elliot, as furious as she'd just seen him, coming at her with a knife, striking at her, tearing through her skin mercilessly.

But she couldn't do it. She couldn't reconcile that idea with the sweet, tender caress of the man who'd comforted her after her nightmare. She could easily bring up pictures of him bringing her flowers or cooking her dinner or asking her to dance, but she couldn't see him cutting her, drawing blood. She couldn't force herself to see him hurting her in any way.

It brought her no comfort though, because she'd just seen him snap, roughly laying his hands on her to shove her away, throwing something at her, yelling at her.

She wanted to think he couldn't hurt her. But she couldn't quite convince herself it was true.

She felt weak. Her hands and arms were still shaking and the more she tried to stop it, the more parts of her seemed to tremble. Unsure of what else to do, she reached out, gathering the broken pieces of the glass towards her. The shards pierced her skin, the acid of the juice burning as it seeped into her cuts. She didn't feel it. She just continued to collect the mess with her hands, sweeping it around her until she was surrounded by it, as though a mop and a broom might clean her up with the rest. Olivia couldn't see through the tears or hear past her own silent screams.

She didn't hear him come back. She didn't hear his footsteps as he walked down the hall, searching for her first in her bedroom, then in the bathroom, not even once thinking she'd still be in the kitchen. She didn't hear the gasp he let out when he finally found her, sobbing and shivering and bleeding on the floor, looking every bit as broken as the glass that had absorbed the brunt of his outburst. She didn't hear the words he said as he tried to apologize.

But she did feel his hands, hands that were larger and stronger and more imposing than she'd realized, when they closed around her upper arms. Her legs were like jelly, loose and uncoordinated, but fear prompted her to struggle to her feet at his urging. Fear that he would be mad if she resisted. Fear that he'd be even angrier to find her still there. Fear that he was going to lash out again.

She didn't even know what was going on as she sobbed hysterically, terrified that his hands were going to hurt her. He was all she had to hold onto and she didn't know what to do if he turned against her. Her apology found its way from her quivering lips, begging forgiveness, promising she'd do whatever he asked, telling him over and over again that she'd do anything, absolutely anything, if he just wouldn't leave her.

When her eyes cleared, the result of having cried until there were simply no more tears left, she found herself in the bathroom. She was sitting on the closed lid of the toilet. Elliot was perched on the edge of the tub across from her, her legs resting across his lap, her pants pushed up above her knees. He was dabbing at the cuts with some liquid that stung more than the juice had, but she didn't make a sound. She just stared, waiting for the other shoe to drop as he inspected her knees to make sure there were no bits of glass before he applied a few bandages.

He moved on to her hands then, after carefully fixing her pants, making sure to stretch them well over her knees so it wouldn't hurt. She winced involuntarily as he prodded one of the cuts. He looked up to reach past her for the tweezers on the counter and she was shocked to see his eyes were red and swollen. She wasn't the only one crying her eyes out, apparently. But neither said anything as he held her hand right up to his eyes to pick out the bit of glass with the tweezers. He treated her hands the same as he had her knees, cleaning and bandaging them for her.

Finished with his ministrations, he gently set her hands on her lap. She waited for him to tell her what to do. She'd learned her lesson well; she wasn't going to do anything unless he asked her to. But he didn't say a thing. He only stared at her, his face an unreadable mask.

What he did next scared her more than even his temper had, revealed more of him than she was willing to bet Liv had ever seen.

He slid forward from the tub, onto his knees in front of her, his face crumbling, his hands moving to support his head as it fell into her lap. He was shaking, sobbing, worse than she had been, his unrecognizable voice begging for her mercy, her forgiveness. She wasn't even completely sure what he was saying besides that, only fully understanding that he was very, very sorry and that he'd never meant to scare her.

She'd thought there were no tears left inside her, but there were. They sprang forth in response to his pleas, condemning her for hurting him so terribly. She knew, somehow absolutely, that the man on his knees before her, beyond destroyed at the idea that he'd caused her physical pain, had never, ever hurt her. He'd never raised a hand to her; he never would. He'd been upset, his temper had raged, but he'd taken it out on a glass, never intending for her to be injured. He'd actually been looking for a way to expel his frustration on something besides her.

Slipping forward off the toilet, half in his lap and half on the floor, she wrapped her arms around him and held onto him for dear life.

The morning found her warm and safe, tucked into her bed with the shades drawn against the bright light of the sun. From the bed, she could see into the bathroom, the light still burning, displaying the box of bandages, the bottle of antiseptic, the tissues he'd been using to clean her wounds – all left on the floor by the tub. She sat up and stretched, feeling the torn skin of her knees and palms resisting the movement. Moving to remake the bed, she inspected the pillow she hadn't been laying on, the wrinkled pattern on the sheets, and wondered if she'd spent the night there alone or if Elliot's arms had held her close.

Sleep or not, she didn't feel particularly rested. Her body moved slowly as she dressed, opting against a shower on the grounds that it would make a mess out of the care he'd taken of her cuts, and chose a pair of jeans and a loose t-shirt. There was no point in trying to entice the man anymore. Whatever the hell their relationship was, it was a Pandora's box that she wasn't going to dare touch with a ten-foot pole. They'd start new, she decided. Their history was wiped clean, like her memory, and they'd resolve anything that needed resolving if and when she knew what she was getting into. She slipped on some thick socks and her running shoes, pretending she didn't see pair after pair of high heeled black leather shoes in her closet, and headed into the bathroom.

She brushed her teeth first, still avoiding the mirror, as she prepared to take a good look. She suspected the damage from crying and getting hit in the head and sleeping in her makeup would render her unspeakably abhorrent, something from a horror movie. Taking a deep breath, she looked at herself for the first time. The requisite streaks of mascara and eye liner were there from crying. Her eyes were still tinged with red. The side of her temple was a discolored purple shade that extended into her hair, not looking anything like she expected, considering the blow had pretty much ruined her life, and quite possibly Elliot's as well.

She poked through the medicine cabinet for some makeup remover and gently scrubbed away the face she didn't remember putting on. Then she patted herself dry and ran her fingers through her hair. Without the dramatic black streaks stemming from her eyes, she doubted anyone would have an idea of the hell she'd been through. There were bags, deep, tired ones, under her eyes, which she immediately identified as being her price to pay for keeping those nightmares away. A few small creases around her mouth, as likely from smiling as from the tight way she'd pursed her lips while studied her reflection.

Objectively, as someone who really didn't know Olivia Benson much besides the fact that she had a horrible job and a wonderful partner, Olivia decided she was pretty. She tried smiling, tried to convince herself she was happy, just to see what she looked like. She had a nice smile, straight, white teeth, full lips. She saw the faintest hint of a dimple if she smiled just so. Her cheekbones were high and defined, her eyes big and brown, a tiny furrow between her eyebrows that made her think she was never quite sure she believed what people were telling her. The only thing she didn't like was her nose, so she didn't dwell on it. She suspected that, with the addition of a little makeup, she could turn heads.

She had seen the drawers full of workout clothes, as well as the nearly worn-through soles of her sneakers, and took a step back to admire her figure in the mirror. She was tall and thin, and with a smirk, she bet there were quite a few women who hated her for that. Her eyes darted toward the door, paranoia poking through as she raised her shirt halfway to see her chiseled stomach. She used those clothes she'd found, probably worked the hell out of her body and mind, resulting in the reward of a great body and enough exhaustion to sleep.

A sudden thought of those dresses in her closet, coupled with the sculpted body she had, and the right shade of lipstick – forget turning heads. She could stop traffic.

It certainly gave her an idea of why Elliot's body had been so quick to respond when she'd come onto him. Maybe their partnership was exactly what he'd claimed and nothing more. But what she'd felt, what he'd reacted to, were the undeniable sparks of attraction between them. They were like magnets, drawn inevitably toward one another.

Grinning at the thought, she went out to look for her partner.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

She found him in the kitchen, leaning on the counter, with a steaming cup of coffee in his hands. Her lips curved up involuntarily in an unconscious smile at the sight of him. His face mirrored hers immediately, offering her a warm smile.

It appeared to be instinct, his normal reaction to seeing her in the morning, because the smile vanished as quickly as it formed, a pained, sorrowful look taking its place as his eyes fell.

"That smells really good." She didn't want to bring the events back up from the night before. She'd made a terrible mistake in thinking he would hurt her and that reaction had hurt him. But they'd forgiven each other, in unspoken words, as far as she was concerned and it was over.

He looked uncertain, as though he thought it almost too good to be true that she might be willing to let it go. Setting his cup on the counter, he moved toward the stove. "The water's still warm if you want me to make you some tea."

She shook her head and motioned at his cup. "Some coffee sounds really good though."

He smiled slightly. "You don't drink coffee."

"Then where did that come from?"

"You used to drink it." He grinned and pointed to the side of the counter that she hadn't noticed, where the contents of an entire cabinet had been dumped. "I knew you still had to have some in here somewhere. Not the freshest cup I've ever had, but…"

Laughing, she started pawing through other cabinets, looking for a mug. "I drink coffee now." She finally found her mug and held it out to him as he spooned the powder in and chased it with water.

"Don't tell me I didn't try to stop you."

She took a moment to savor the smell as the mug warmed her hands. Then she gulped it down, three large sips emptying half the mug. When she looked up, Elliot was smiling at her. "What?"

"Some things never change." His voice was soft and wistful. He was clearly still nervous about where he stood.

"What does that mean?" She wanted to encourage him, keep him talking to her until he loosened up.

"You always did that with your coffee."

She felt her brow furrow, remembering the lines in the mirror and realized she was making a face he probably saw all the time. "Did what with it?" As far as she knew, she was just drinking it. There was nothing out of the ordinary going on.

"You always smell it and hold it like that," he demonstrated with his mug, cradling it in two hands and holding it to his nose. "Then you drink it straight down." Shaking his head, he shrugged. "I wouldn't think that the way you drink coffee would survive if you don't even remember your name."

"I wouldn't think you'd know how I drink my coffee." Despite the slightly odd feeling of someone knowing her so well when she didn't know herself at all, it made her smile. At least someone knew her that well. And she imagined, if she did regain her memories, the idea would endear him to her a little more.

He finished his mug and set it in the sink. "I've been watching you inhale coffee for ten years. I know you better than anyone."

"Even me, at the moment."

His eyes found hers, staring intently at her for the first time that morning. "I think I always know you better than you do." Before she could ask him what he meant, he grinned. "I see your quirks, your patterns, you know, the characteristics you don't see. I honestly bet you never even realized you always drink your coffee the same way."

"But you know." She saw him nod. Then she grinned to let him know she was only kidding. "That's kind of creepy."

"Then I should let you know I can count on one hand the number of times in a decade that I've seen you like that."

She looked down at the lilac t-shirt and faded jeans she'd chosen. The foot she'd crossed over the other started to bounce anxiously as she self-consciously pushed a piece of hair behind her ear. She didn't think she looked particularly bad, but something was off. "Like what?"

"Relaxed. Casual. You always come to work dressed up with your hair and makeup all done and –" He stepped right in front of her, conspicuously looking down at her with a grin. "Damn, you're kind of short without heels."

She slugged him in the stomach for his comment, even while she laughed. "I am not short." But looking up at him, she had to admit she felt tiny next to his bulk. "You're just a giant."

His eyes found hers, the laughter dying away to a sweet, gentle look. "I like it. You look more human, approachable."

She watched his eyes dart to her lips for a moment and she wondered if her clothing choices would have changed their relationship, if maybe he would have tried if she seemed more welcoming. But she didn't give voice to the thoughts. She made a joke to lighten the mood and dispel the air that seemed to thicken almost imperceptibly until it was enough to choke her. "Do I look inhuman normally?" With the heat between them, she wondered how she ever managed to breathe.

"No, normally you're super woman."

She initially assumed it was a joke and smiled, but there was no mirth in his face. He was serious. It took her breath away to see the kind of reverence he had for her, the way he respected her.

Maybe it hadn't been a two by four that caused her amnesia. Maybe it was lack of oxygen from not breathing in an attempt to deny the feelings between herself and her partner.

Fearing she was about to confess a love she suspected she'd long harbored in secret for the man, she looked away and quickly finished her coffee. "So what's the plan for today?" She went to put her cup in the sink, noticing the sad, lonely way his mug looked until she set hers beside it. She wished she didn't live alone, that he was always there in the morning to make sure her dishes had company.

"Well, in lieu of your memory coming back, I should probably get some clothes from home and change before I stink up the place." He didn't mention that he needed to get clothes because his wife had kicked him out and she didn't think she should bring it up either. "Then I need to head into work for a few hours, finish some stuff up. You're welcome to come with me."

"Welcome?" She rolled her eyes. "Don't you mean I have to for fear I'll burn the building down her something?" The doctor had been pretty emphatic that she not be left alone.

"I'm pretty sure you aren't going to burn the place down, so it's up to you. You want to stay here?"

She looked at him carefully, sizing him up, trying to read between the lines. She couldn't swear he wasn't trying to lose her for the day. She shrugged, hoping he was just trying to give her an option if she didn't want to stay with him. "Wouldn't want to make you a liar. You did promise not to take your eyes off me."

A wry smile was spreading across his face as he led her to the door. "It's not my eyes I'm having trouble keeping off you."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Olivia sat at Liv's desk, staring at the pile of papers and folders and notes and phone messages and bent paperclips, nearly bored out of her skull. She'd already had three more cups of coffee, surreptitiously poked through her drawers, contemplated the meaning behind the approximately sixty-five half eaten packs of breath mints she'd found during the search, gone through her locker, with Elliot's help to open the lock whose combination she couldn't remember, and made small talk with a few people. Mostly she'd stared at Elliot, because he was the most entertaining thing around, and waited for something to happen.

Elliot had pointed out a few people to her, including a couple he warned her not to dare engage because she couldn't stand them and would never forgive him for allowing her to talk to. He'd spent the rest of the time working quietly on his computer, typing up some sort of report he'd explained was several weeks late. After a while, he'd taken the messages from her desk, sorted through them, and returned a few.

She tried not to eavesdrop on other detectives as they discussed cases, but it was too fascinating to ignore. Lake and Fin, who she determined she worked with the most besides Elliot simply because they'd been at the hospital, sat so close she couldn't help but overhear. They were trading theories, trying to make sense of both a confusing witness statement, who they both suspected was lying about something, and a suspect's shoddy alibi, which Fin assumed meant he was guilty while Lake preferred to think he was innocent, but covering something for the witness. Every once in a while they'd refer to the victim's statement, which apparently Liv had taken, and quote it to prove their theory.

Olivia, who'd initially been rather disturbed to realize she listened to details of rape and child abuse day in and day out, couldn't drag her eyes away when the two stood up, each passionately defending their own ideas while rudely dismissing the other. When Fin stepped forward, crowding the other man in an attempt to intimidate him, Olivia started to snicker. She felt like she was watching a movie, an intensely entertaining one, and wished she had popcorn.

Lake turned to her, his over-eager butt-kissing attitude from the day before apparently a thing of the past, and snarled. "What the hell are you laughing at?"

Fin actually stepped partially in front of Lake, coming between him and Olivia. "She's laughing at your lame ass theory."

Olivia noticed Elliot's attention had finally turned from his computer as soon as the argument included her. "Leave Olivia out of it." She smiled, proud that Elliot was coming to her defense.

Fin's voice brought her attention back to the other set of partners. "Seriously, Liv, what's got you in such a good mood?"

She felt her face color as she realized quite a few people were staring at her. Shrugging she tried to brush them off. "It's just interesting to watch you guys fight."

Lake began to laugh and Fin joined him a moment later.

"What?" She looked at Elliot, not getting the joke that he too was laughing about.

"They're not fighting, Liv."

Confused, she said nothing. If they weren't fighting, that was the first evidence that she'd lost more than personal memories. If they weren't arguing, she'd apparently lost command of language as well.

Fin was smiling as he pointed at her and Elliot. "We haven't insulted each other's heritage or said 'fuck you' once."

Lake joined his partner. "We haven't even thrown anything at each other."

"Or had anyone threaten to lock them in a closet together until they resolve the tension." The unfamiliar female voice caught Olivia's attention, even as the meaning of her words made Olivia blush harder. "Seriously, Liv, you and Elliot have a corner on the market in fighting around here."

Olivia sized the woman up, ignoring the fact that the woman was clearly insinuating something about Olivia and her partner's relationship that Elliot had mislead her on. The woman was quite pretty, long strawberry blonde hair pinned up behind her ears. A navy blue suit with a knee-length skirt was buttoned at the waist, accenting the woman's trim figure. Perfectly sensible pumps, exactly the kind that Liv had no interest in whatsoever, raised her a few inches and matched her suit perfectly.

As Olivia was looking at her, she stepped over and leaned against Liv's desk, opening a drawer and snagging one of the million packs of mints. She shook one into her palm and replaced the container as if she owned the place, even though Olivia hadn't dared take one herself. "You'll be happy to know that Milton Stevens will be spending the next twenty-five to thirty in a cell."

Olivia smiled, wondering both who Milton Stevens was and why she should be so happy to see him locked up. "Oh."

The woman frowned at Olivia's less than eager response and checked with Elliot as though Olivia had suddenly gone deaf. "Your partner certainly has a bug up her butt."

Elliot glared at her. "Don't even think I'm speaking to you after what you just said."

"So you're the only one allowed to talk about her butt?" The woman's voice was muffled behind a giggle. Fin and Lake seemed to think it was thoroughly amusing too.

Mortified and unsure she even really knew what was going on, Olivia tried to sink down in her chair.

Cragen, at least, shared her unhappiness with the conversation, as he had emerged from his office in time to catch the redhead's last remark. "As much fun as I'm sure it is to discuss everyone's backsides, I'm going to have to butt in myself and ask that you all find something resembling work and start doing it. Elliot, I need to see you in my office. Casey, if you don't have anything to do, go find somewhere else to be because my detectives are busy."

Olivia watched with a smile as all the people who'd been laughing at her immediately settled down and started working.

Elliot stood up and nodded at Cragen to indicate that he was on his way. "Liv, this is Casey, our ADA."

Olivia looked at Casey, who seemed amused to discover that Olivia didn't know her name. Taking a page from her playbook, Olivia pretended Casey wasn't there. "Do I like her?"

"Sometimes." Elliot shrugged. "Especially when she drops by to tell you that Milton Stevens will be in prison until long after he'll need to take a little blue pill to rape his granddaughter." Then he headed for Cragen's office.

Olivia didn't get the little blue pill part, but the rest she understood perfectly. "Ew, gross."

Casey moved from the edge of Liv's desk and sat down in Elliot's chair. "So it's true."

Olivia glared at the woman for stealing Elliot's seat. "Aren't you supposed to be finding somewhere else to be?"

Casey waved her hand dismissively. "He's not my boss. Besides, technically, I need to know how useful you'll be on the stand next week for the Ellison trial."

"Is that supposed to mean something to me?" Because Olivia had no idea what the Ellison trial was nor what she had to do with it.

"So it's true."

"Didn't you just say that?"

Casey smiled. "If I wasn't going to have to beg Judge Greenburg for a continuance in light of the fact that the arresting officer doesn't know what happened, this would be quite amusing."

"I fail to see the humor myself." Unconcerned with appearing rude, she looked past Casey to stare at Elliot's outline in Cragen's office. He was sitting in a chair, looking to be deeply involved in a discussion. She tried to will him to come back since he was the only person in Liv's life that Olivia particularly wanted anything to do with.

"What's it like?"

Olivia's eyes darted back to Casey, who was doing something with Elliot's computer. "Are you supposed to be doing that?"

"I'm just checking my mail."

"On Elliot's computer?"

Casey's expression was alarmed when she turned to face Olivia. "You don't remember a damn thing, do you?"

"What does that have to do with Elliot's computer?"

"It must be fascinating. To be able to see everyone you know in an entirely new light, I mean." Casey was staring and it bothered Olivia.

She looked down to discover herself twisting a paperclip unconsciously. Disgusted that her nervous quirks were intact, she threw the paperclip next to the others and folded her hands in her lap. "I don't have anything to compare them to so it's really not that interesting. It's actually kind of nerve-wracking because I don't want to upset anyone that Liv is friends with, even though I might not really like them."

"Like me?" Casey was smiling, but only until Olivia didn't say anything. "It'll be neat when you get your memory back, though, right? To remember meeting people for the first time twice?"

Olivia shrugged. "I guess. I'd like to know if my perceptions change hers."

"You're talking about yourself in the third person."

"I don't fee like the same person."

Casey shrugged. "Just thought I'd warn you because usually only crazy people do that."

Olivia started to smile at the woman. "You don't pull any punches, do you?"

"I'm a lawyer."

"I was wondering what you were doing here." Smiling harder, she sat back in her chair and decided she enjoyed the woman's candor. "So, what's 'our ADA' mean?"

"I prosecute the bastards you arrest and send them to prison." Casey's words were quick and to the point. She didn't mince words and there was something about the abundantly feminine way she looked that told Olivia she was really a hard ass.

"Ok, so maybe my taste in friends isn't as bad as I thought." Olivia's eyes darted unconsciously past Casey again, locking on Elliot's back.

Casey grinned, following her friend's stare. She leaned forward and lowered her voice. "Between you and me, neither is your taste in men."

Olivia went her cheeks burning again, realizing that her attraction to her married partner was pretty widely known. But understanding that might mean someone besides Elliot could explain their relationship, she looked Casey in the eye. "He said we're friends."

Casey nodded. "Yeah, ok."

Olivia narrowed her eyes. "Is that true?"

A noncommittal shrug was all she got in response as a teenaged couple interrupted them. "Hi, Liv. Is dad here?"

Olivia looked at the pair. The girl who'd spoken didn't look even vaguely familiar, but the boy who stood beside her did. Although he was scrawny and his narrow shoulders revealed that he was a little on the slow side to hit puberty, his dark hair and intense eyes were painfully familiar. "Dad would be Elliot?" She watched them glance at one another before the boy nodded. She looked at Elliot who was just leaving Cragen's office. "Fuck, Elliot, how many kids do you have?"

Casey, Fin, and Lake all started to laugh. The kids made faces at each other. Elliot tried to glare at all of them, Olivia, the kids, and his coworkers, simultaneously.

"All right, as fun as this is going to be, I better get out of here before Cragen realizes I completely ignored him." Casey patted Elliot on the shoulder and pointed at Olivia. "Good luck with that one. She's a trouble maker."

Olivia narrowed her eyes at Casey and spoke up before the woman's retreating figure made it out of earshot. "Casey thinks you're hot."

Two squeals answered her, from the girl and Casey, while the pretty much the rest of the room laughed. Elliot, however, stared at her, his cheeks turning various shades of red, and did not look happy. In fact, she was pretty sure he'd have killed her had there not been a room full of cops to witness it.

She grinned innocently in return. "I just call it like I see it."

Casey, mortified or not, walked back to face Elliot. Olivia was happy to see that her assessment of the other woman had been accurate. "I told you she was a trouble maker." Casey's eyes darted to Olivia's, an almost evil glee in them. Olivia's heart stopped as she realized that Casey could do the same thing she had, inform a room full of coworkers that Olivia too was hot for Elliot. But Casey only let Olivia know she could, saying nothing of the sort to Elliot. "On that note, I'll see everyone later."

Elliot sat down in his chair, ignoring Olivia for the moment. "What's up, guys?"

"We need money. Mom said to get it from you." The boy looked bored, like his father should have known there was only one reason he'd dare be seen talking to him in public.

Sighing heavily, Elliot produced his wallet and handed them a credit card. "Should I bother to ask what it's for?"

The boy shook his head. "Do you really want to know?"

Elliot grinned. "Probably not."

The girl stepped closer to him, throwing her arm around his shoulders in an obvious display of affection. "Daddy?"

Elliot didn't fall for her antics. "What, Elizabeth?"

"We need a car too." The girl withdrew her arm, either embarrassed or irritated that her plan hadn't worked.

Olivia grinned as Elliot worked one of the keys off his ring. "Why didn't I think of that?"

Elliot rolled his eyes at her. "Liv, these are the twins, Lizzie and Dickie."

"Rick, Dad. It's Rick."

"I've been calling you Dickie since before you could talk."

"And it's Liz, Dad." She sighed, in an accidentally exact copy of Elliot's earlier action. "We're not babies anymore."

Dickie and or Rick spoke up again. "And we just saw Olivia at EJ's christening a month ago. I think she remembers us."

"Not necessarily." Elliot opened his mouth to explain further, but Olivia cut him off.

"Who's EJ?"

Lizzie answered her, in that obnoxious tone that only a teenager could muster up. "Dad, if she can't keep track of the names of your kids after ten years, do you really think it was a good idea to make her EJ's godmother?"

Elliot glared at his daughter. "Your mother and I are fighting, but that doesn't give you the right to talk to me or Olivia like that." He motioned at Olivia, who'd ducked down at the mention of the soon-to-end marriage. "She's got amnesia and she doesn't even remember her own name."

With the full attention of the kids, Olivia looked up and smiled. "Hi, Rick and Liz or Dickie and Lizzie or whoever you are this week."

Elliot grinned when the kids faces tinged red. "I seem to remember a period a few years back when Lizzie was spelled with two y's."

"Dad!" The girl buried her face in her hands, mumbling that he was embarrassing her.

"That's what dads are for."

Olivia laughed. "And credit cards."

Dickie snagged the car key from the corner of Elliot's desk. "And cars. Thanks, Dad. Later."

Lizzie waved as she followed her brother. "It was nice re-meeting you, Liv."

As soon as they were gone from sight, Olivia looked at Elliot and admired the warm smile he had staring after his kids. "Those were the little ones from the picture?"

"They got their licenses a few weeks ago."

"So, I have a godson?"

Elliot nodded, adding a sly wink. "We might have forgotten to tell the priest you're not Catholic."

"Considering that I don't know who the priest is, I'm not about to tell him."

He turned one of the pictures around on his desk. "Here."

She took the frame from him, seeing a large group of people surrounding herself and a man she didn't recognize. The two of them were holding a baby between them. She spotted Elliot a few feet behind her. "Who's that?" She pointed at the man, fearing for a moment that he was her boyfriend.

"That's my brother-in-law, Joe." His finger moved over others in the picture. "Elliot, Jr, of course, Kathy, my wife, Maureen, Kathleen, Dickie."

"Don't you mean Rick?"

He chuckled. "Lizzie, with two y's." She giggled and listened intently, trying to memorize the list of names he rattled off. "Don't worry, you don't know most of these people and will probably never see them again."

"Oh, good." She looked over the group of people, knowing she could probably label a third of them if her life depended on it. Elliot fixed the frame and turned back to work, but Olivia didn't want to let him ignore her again. "I'm guessing this is my mom." She pointed at the framed photo on her desk and watched Elliot nod. "I've seen a couple pictures of her, but there are none of my dad. Where's he?"

Elliot's face paled and Olivia noticed that her question had been overheard by Fin, who was staring with his mouth open.

"What? Did I say something wrong?" Her eyes moved between the two men, noting that Lake seemed just as confused by their silence as she did.

Clearing his throat, Elliot looked away. "Your mother raised you. Your father wasn't in the picture."

"Oh, ok." It didn't seem that bad, not bad enough to merit the response. "Should I call her? Does she know I got hurt?"

Again, Elliot's face looked like he would have rather been anywhere else. "She passed away a few years back, Liv."

Olivia nodded, feeling a hurt she hadn't expected. She didn't have a father. Her mother was gone. If she'd had a boyfriend or children, Elliot would have mentioned them. And she hadn't seen any other pictures. She lowered her voice so no one would overhear. "Do I have any siblings?"

Elliot shook his head, but then stopped suddenly. "Well, you have a half-brother, but you didn't grow up with him. You actually just met him a little over a year ago."

She couldn't look at him. He had a family. He had a bunch of kids, a wife, for the time being at least, and all sorts of relatives he'd just shown her. She had no one. Her voice was choked with emotion, but she managed to keep her tears at bay. "So it's just me." She felt very small and lonely.

But Elliot's foot tapped against hers and his smile warmed her. "You've got one hell of a partner." He nodded at the picture he'd shown her. "And a godson too."

Before she could answer, Cragen reappeared between the desks of the four detectives. "Uniforms just found Marks. He's on his way up." He reached over and grabbed several of the files on Elliot's desk and tossed them on Lake's. He held up his hand to stop Elliot's objection. "Fin and Chester will handle this, Elliot."

Olivia watched as Elliot nodded curtly, the fire in his eyes telling her that he wasn't about to let it go. She had no idea what was going on and she was about to ask, as soon as the older man left.

But as soon as he did, two uniformed officers entered the room, dragging an unhappy, uncooperative, cuffed man with them. Fin and Lake stood up to replace the officers. Everyone was paying attention to the exchange and therefore, Olivia was the only one to notice that Elliot had stood too.

"You son of a bitch!" Elliot sprang forth, his fist making contact with the prisoner's jaw. A loud crack sounded and the room descended into a flurry of activity.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Olivia watched, frightened of the animalistic way Elliot had launched himself at the man, at the angry sound of his voice. She didn't know what to do or how to intercede. She could only watch as Fin and Lake struggled with the man while Cragen shot out of his office to pull Elliot away. Even while their boss was yanking him away, Elliot continued to struggle, his strength split between trying to free himself of the lock while he continued to pound Marks. His fists and arms were flying, coming into painful contact with far more than the one man he was aiming for.

Cragen was a much smaller man than Elliot and so the best he could do was keep Elliot somewhat away while Fin and Lake took Marks into one of the interrogation rooms. Olivia was stunned to see Elliot's face, eyes burning with hate and aggression, after Marks was gone. He snapped his arms forward suddenly, wrenching himself out of Cragen's loosened hold, and for one long, tense moment of silence, Olivia was certain Elliot was about to charge right into the other room and go after the man again.

Cragen stepped in front of Elliot, his displeasure with the younger man's actions written clearly across his face. "Sit your ass in the chair and don't you dare think about it, Stabler." His voice was so loud, so hard, so commanding, that Olivia's eyes widened further when Elliot didn't obey.

The veins were sticking out in Elliot's neck and forehead, giving him a crazed, slightly possessed look to him. He didn't actually appear to hear a word of Cragen's demand as his eyes focused on the door that had closed behind the three other men.

Finally, probably due to a waning adrenaline rush, Elliot slumped into his chair. His eyes didn't meet Olivia's and for the moment, she was thankful. She'd seen his temper a few too many times. She'd made a silent promise to forget the events of the previous night, but Elliot's repeated explosions were making that difficult. Still, she didn't want him to see the lingering effects of her fear, her shaking hands, her trembling jaw. She couldn't imagine dealing with Elliot on a regular basis, watching his temper spark out of control all the time. It was a real concern, one that she would have to resolve if she was going to continue living her life. She couldn't be in constant fear that Elliot was going to hurt someone, even if she knew he would never hurt her.

Cragen's chest was heaving and his fingers were pressed to the corner of his mouth. When he moved them a moment later, Olivia saw a trickle of blood.

She looked away, knowing deep down that Elliot drawing his boss's blood was not something he could get away with. She didn't want to see him get in trouble. She didn't want to see him lose his job. God only knew who he'd attack then.

Before Cragen could say a word, Fin and Lake reappeared without Marks.

Fin shrugged at Olivia, ducking into his seat in what she thought was an attempt to avoid any fireworks directed at him. It left Lake with the unhappy job of informing Cragen that Marks wanted a lawyer and that he was threatening to sue for police brutality.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me." All eyes turned on Elliot as he continued. "That's a fucking joke."

Cragen glared at him. "Until your little stunt, we had him nailed. We would have put him away easy. Now the DA'll let him walk before he looks like a fool prosecuting someone who'll swear the cops beat him up."

Elliot was out of his chair in a flash. "Give me a minute with him. He'll plead guilty. He'll beg to be in prison."

Cragen stepped in front of him. "Sit down."

Elliot's eyes narrowed and he glared right back, every bit as pissed off. "He's not walking away."

Cragen didn't budge. "Sit down, Elliot. I'm not even going to try to fix this mess you made until I know you're not going to make another one."

It looked as though Elliot tried to listen. But his temper flared again and he wasn't any better at controlling it than any of the other times Olivia had witnessed. He got right in Cragen's face and started yelling. "After what that son of a bitch did? You're fucking joking! They should put a damn needle in his arm."

Olivia wondered exactly what Marks had done to get Elliot so riled up. She looked around and saw everyone was listening, watching, but still pretending to work. She turned back to see Cragen pointing at the hall.

"Get the hell out of here." Folding his arms across his chest, he shook his head to forestall any argument. "Go home, Elliot. Two days suspension."

Elliot stared him down and Olivia feared Cragen was about to get a black eye to go with the fat lip. Eventually Elliot nodded, although it was hardly in agreement. "You're suspending me? That bastard attacked Olivia and you're suspending me!"

The blood ran cold in Olivia's veins as she realized the whole scene had been about her. The rage, the anger, the loss of control, had all been because the man had hurt her. She didn't know how she felt about the man herself, how she felt about being attacked, if it was even the attack she knew about, the one that had rendered her in her current state.

Cragen's voice was laced with anger. "After that stunt, you're lucky it's only a suspension. Now get the hell out of here before I change my mind."

Elliot wanted to fight, Olivia was sure the fury had hardly burned off, but he seemed to belatedly realize no one was going to let him kill Marks. "Fuck. Whatever." He threw his hands up in the air and stormed down the hall.

Olivia didn't have the faintest clue what to do. She sat at her desk, watching Cragen as he addressed Fin and Lake. He was counseling them against letting their tempers get the better of them, promising them that he'd happily suspend the whole department and bump the case to another precinct if they didn't feel they could be objective. Butt-kisser Lake reappeared and nodded eagerly, informing the captain that he'd have no problem focusing on Marks' earlier crimes. Fin wasn't nearly so eager, his eyes darting to Elliot's empty desk and to Olivia's face, before he cracked his knuckles and said he'd see what he could do. It made Olivia smile to see that Fin was apparently so loyal to Elliot and herself.

Shaking his head, Cragen turned to square off with Fin. "I don't need him filing complaints against a second detective. I can explain one hothead, the partner of Marks' attack victim. I can't explain away a squad of vigilantes. Are we clear?"

Fin shrugged. "Sure, cap. How do you feel about random street violence when it happens unexpectedly to criminals?"

Cragen shook his head, a small smile forming. "Just what I need. A third Musketeer."

Olivia giggled, calling Fin's attention back to her. Lake was heading back to the interrogation room, but Fin squatted down beside her to speak without Cragen overhearing. "Don't worry, Liv, I got your back."

She nodded, unsure as to the correct response.

"Lock up can be a dangerous place, you know." He winked before he walked away, cluing Olivia in on the fact that she was missing something. But he was back in the interrogation room with Lake and Marks before she had the chance to say anything.

"I know I just told you to get the hell out of here. I'm not kidding, Elliot. You just assaulted a man in custody in a room full of witnesses. If you don't hear from IAB, you'll be lucky." Cragen's voice was still angry, but there was a hint of exasperation as well. As though Elliot's reaction hadn't been a bit out of the ordinary.

Olivia looked up to see her partner, his head down, mutely nodding as he accepted the correction. When Cragen's voice fell silent, Elliot peeked up and motioned at her. "I should probably take her with me."

Cragen looked at her, confused for a moment. "She's not suspended."

"She's not a lot of good to you either." Elliot was only referring to her memory loss, but Olivia frowned at him anyway. "Unless you want to take over watching her."

Cragen was still facing her, and she saw a warm, good-natured smile cross his face for a moment before he replaced it with a stern frown and looked back at Elliot. "No, by all means, she's all yours." He disappeared back into his office.

Thoroughly confused, Olivia looked at Elliot and shrugged. "I wasn't sure you were coming back for me." She stood up and joined him on the other side of his desk.

A hint of red colored his cheeks as he looked at her. "I only forgot you for a minute. Besides," he placed his hand at the small of her back as they started walking, pausing for a second to grin at her. "You usually chase after me when I storm out after I get suspended for flying off the handle."

She wasn't sure it should seem so funny, but it was, considering that he'd lost it over her injury. "A cool headed guy like you? You'd never lose your temper."

He chuckled. "Yeah, imagine that."

"Thank you." She figured it was something he deserved to hear after what he'd done. Misguided or not, it had been a show of feelings for her and it had been public and, surprisingly, not exactly unexpected by their coworkers.

Elliot's startled eyes found hers, furrowing together as his mouth dropped open. After a moment of silence, he shook his head. "You don't normally thank me for that sort of thing."

"Is it something you normally do?" She wasn't sure why she wouldn't thank him for standing up for her, it seemed like a perfectly sweet thing to her.

"Maybe once or twice." He shrugged, stepping into the elevator and pushing the button for the ground floor repeatedly, letting her know that it had happened far more often than he felt comfortable discussing. "But you never like it."

"Why not?" Anything that displayed his attachment to her seemed like a good thing.

"Because you always somehow think I mean to imply that you can't do your job or defend yourself."

Curious she mulled it over in her head, realizing that it made sense if she was the sort of headstrong woman she'd have to be to face her job every day. "But that's not what you mean by it, right?"

He blushed deeper, red staining all the way down his neck and disappearing under his collar. "I just like defending your honor."

Giggling, she leaned her head against his shoulder. "Right, like I'm sure Lake and Fin do for each other all the time."

He turned to face her, his eyes daring to glance at her lips even as the elevator doors opened. He wanted to kiss her. He didn't have to say a word; his face told her. Finally he smiled, his hand at her back again, guiding her forward. "Casey was right about you. You're certainly a trouble maker."

Taking the opportunity she bet Liv rarely did, she stopped for a moment and let her eyes feast on him, slowly taking in his appearance from head to toe and back up. "She was right about you too."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Elliot was quiet through the long walk back to her apartment. Olivia didn't say anything, just let him think. She was preoccupied with trying to ascertain what in particular had caused his silence. There were several possibilities – her injury, his marriage, his suspension. Not only did she think the time to ruminate on everything would do him good, but she also enjoyed the unspoken companionship. She found a comfort in simply walking at his side, in discovering the length of their strides and the pace of their steps were exactly the same, in realizing that she somehow innately knew precisely where he was even if she wasn't looking at him, in noticing she could feel his presence beside her as well as if he'd been holding her hand.

As her friend, he'd had a rough two days. And when she thought about it, none of it would have happened to him had it not been for her. He was in need of cheering up, she decided, and she was the one to do it. But not knowing him that well, she really was at a loss as to what would make him happy.

As she walked into her apartment, nearly tripping over the garment bag he'd tossed there earlier, an idea occurred to her. She turned to him, indicating the bag, and smiled.

His face fell and he stepped forward to move it, thinking she was upset about it. "Sorry, I wasn't sure where to put it."

Shaking her head, she continued to smile, partly because it appeared to unnerve him, mostly because looking at him just made her happy. "Put it anywhere."

His eyes were narrowed, but he did as told, unfolding the bag and hanging it in the hall closet. When he looked back, she was still grinning. "Ok, what?"

She giggled. She didn't know him well at all, but there was one thing she knew he liked – her. And she was thinking that she could give him that wrapped in the slinky black dress she'd found in her closet. Whether he chose to unwrap his gift or simply enjoy staring at it, well, now that part was up to him.

"Tell me there's a nice suit in that bag." Not that there was anything wrong with the blazer and tie he was wearing, but she suspected that he'd look spectacular in a fancy suit.

He looked even more suspicious and his eyes darted toward the closet where he'd just left his bag. "Yeah, in case I have to appear in court."

Her grin grew wider if that was possible. "Good."

"Why is that good?" He looked down, clearly checking to make sure his fly was zipped. "What the hell are you smiling about?"

"Because we're going out to dinner." Knowing she had his full attention, she winked at him. "Someplace nice."

"When we eat together, it's usually off a hot dog cart." He managed to look even more confused. "Someplace nice for us is a diner with vinyl booths."

"Not tonight." She went into the kitchen where she remembered seeing a phone book the night before. Then she took it and the phone back into the living room. "Make us reservations."

He looked at the phone book. "No diners?"

"I said someplace nice. I think that inherently means no diners."

"Um, is this, you know, um, well, a, uh, you know?"

She smiled at him. "No, actually I don't have a clue. Try speaking in sentences." She did know, knew he was trying to figure out if it was a date, but she wanted to make him decide. He was the one whose marriage wasn't looking so hot. She was the one who was probably only going to be around temporarily.

He looked at her seriously for a moment, his eyes almost boring through hers. "Never mind. Someplace nice. I can do that." He sat down on the couch and started flipping through the phone book.

She left him to work on the arrangements while she started getting ready. It was early afternoon and the reservations were likely to be several hours away, but Olivia figured she might as well take the time to fix herself up nicely. She retrieved the dress and hung it over the top of the closet door. After yanking all of Liv's shoe assortment out of the closet for a better inspection, Olivia was torn. There was a nice pair of black patent leather pumps with a modest heel she could walk in, which appealed to her since Elliot had given his car to his children, and she had to admit that the little peep-toe in the front was the best excuse for red nail polish she was sure had ever existed. But there was another pair that spoke to her. It was a perfectly ridiculous pair of strappy black sandals, boasting a rhinestone buckle on the side of the ankle, that she really, really liked. She especially liked how the height would boost her up to being nearly as tall as Elliot.

Deciding on the second pair, she set them on the floor beside the closet while she kicked all the other ones back into the closet. Maybe Liv liked having her shoes lined up in some pathetic obsessive-compulsive array, but Olivia didn't have any desire whatsoever to deal with it. She moved onto the jewelry box next, carefully choosing a pair of diamond studs. She toyed with the idea of a necklace, but decided to pass. The neckline of the dress was simple and the low cut back was dramatic. She feared it would be an overload, considering the rhinestone straps of her shoes counted as jewelry in her book.

Besides, she thought with a smile, Elliot was liable to enjoy the vast expanse of skin on display better without anything to distract him.

She dug through the dresser drawers next. With the length, or lack thereof, of her dress, hose were necessary. Apparently Liv owned the dresses, but generally didn't wear them, because she was nearly through the lingerie drawers and had not come up with anything resembling hose or stockings. It was a disappointing thought since she couldn't possibly go in any of the dresses with bare legs. Naturally tan skin or not, it wasn't summer and she'd just look cheap.

Luckily, just as she was reaching into the back corner, her hand fell on fabric.

Jackpot.

The soft ball she'd found turned out, when she carefully unspooled it, to be a pair of black stockings. The top several inches were lace and Olivia giggled to herself. She was slightly disappointed to feel the sticky rubber liner around the top, saddened to know there wouldn't be a garter belt involved. Of course, she accepted that it was just as well because, should Elliot get to see the stockings, she was pretty sure he'd be floored enough.

The poor man might have a stroke if he saw her in a garter belt too.

Giggling happily to herself, she selected a lacy black thong. She replaced the items she'd thrown about in her search for the stockings, lingering on the bra that matched the thong. It was too bad she wouldn't get to wear it as well because she suspected it was just the sort of visual Elliot might like, to see his tough, strong partner all dolled up in matching black lace and thigh-highs. But the cut of the dress left no room for that sort of modesty, so the bra went back in the drawer.

Heading into the bathroom to start the water for her shower, she figured that Elliot would be just as pleased to find that she wasn't wearing a bra at all.

She took her time in the shower, deciding she didn't mind the lavender scent of Liv's soap after all. It was soothing and Elliot was probably used to it, probably associated it with her in his head. It seemed a perfectly good reason to give it a chance. She used the new razor she'd found in the medicine cabinet to shave her legs, taking a moment when she was finished to rub her hand over the soft, smooth skin and hope that Elliot would do the same later. Then she stood there, basking in the steaming hot water, feeling the heat seep into her tight muscles and drawing out some of the tension.

When she finally stepped out, the bathroom was so steamy it felt like a sauna. She wrapped herself up in a thick fluffly towel and twisted another around her head. It wouldn't take long for her hair to dry, but it would keep it out of her face until it did. Just as she was reaching for the door to her bedroom, there was a soft knock on the other door.

She opened it with a wide grin, feeling a rush of cold air greet her. "Thinking of joining me?"

His eyes dropped sharply, taking in the sight of her barely covered by her towel. It seemed like forever as his eyes moved down, staring at her feet for a long time, then her legs, which she'd crossed at the ankle, then slowly up the long column of leg the towel didn't cover. His throat worked hard to swallow when his eyes stalled on their trip back up, moving across her shoulders and collarbone rather than up to her face. They even moved down over her bare arms for a period before his burning eyes finally found hers.

She was still grinning, pleased that he hadn't even managed to fake a response. "No, I guess you're not thinking much of anything right now, huh?"

Well, he was thinking, she reasoned, but it wasn't with his brain, nor was it with a part of his anatomy that was much for speech.

His mouth fell open, processing very belatedly that she was talking.

She reached out, placing her index finger under his chin, and gently pushed his mouth shut. "You trying to catch flies?"

Her intention had been to tease and flirt and offer anything he wanted to take that evening. But she hadn't quite expected to start so early. She decided to give him a break, aiming for mercy when she stepped into her bedroom and motioned for him to follow.

When he still failed to say anything, she cocked her eyebrow. "Was there something you wanted?" She hadn't even meant for it to come out that way, but she saw the way his eyes widened a bit at what he assumed was a blatant come on.

Perhaps even more unsettling to what Olivia realized was a precarious balance in their relationship was his response. Rather than words, his eyes dropped again, so heavy with desire that she could practically feel them touching her, his stare raking over her body as though he intended to leave a mark. His gaze met hers again and only then did his mouth curve up into a smile. He didn't say a word out loud, but she heard him all the same. There was definitely something he wanted, something he wanted so badly he might actually take it, something he was thrilled he was being offered.

His mouth fell open again, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, his eyes never leaving hers.

The answering rush of moisture between her legs made her wonder if she shouldn't take another shower.

He stayed still, just staring at her, no longer even looking over her exposed body. His eyes were fixed on hers, emotion and passion and longing reflecting at her. Something about the way he was staring told her that he knew she was turned on, that he could smell her physical reaction to him, that he knew she was wet enough already that he could slide his dick into her right then without a bit of resistance from her body and fuck her hard.

She shuddered, unprepared for the feelings, for the idea that she wanted him to throw her on the bed and pound into her, not expecting that her body remembered Liv's unadulterated desire for the man Olivia couldn't honestly say was more than a stranger. Her body knew him, her body wanted him, her body was making decisions for her.

Which was just as well because her brain didn't know what the fuck it was doing.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Suddenly chilled and shaking, Olivia sat down heavily on the bed. Some innate modesty held her knees together as her hands clutched the top of the towel around her chest. She'd convinced herself she was ready to pursue something with the man based on an emotional attachment she felt despite not being able to remember it.

But, she realized in a moment of sobering clarity, she simply wasn't emotionally prepared for the strength of her reaction to him, for the rebellion of her body, for the fact that whatever the nature of the relationship she'd stepped into, it wasn't one she understood, nor could she hope to. It was a bond, a tie, a silver chain, that was incomprehensible to most people, probably even to them. It defied conventional vocabulary. It defied description. The only word that even came close wasn't one most people used to define their closest friendship.

Scary.

That was the best she could do.

Scary that she could remember wanting him so badly when she couldn't remember her own name.

Sensing the change in her, she saw him instantly follow suit. The heated stare, the leering smile, the intensity radiating from his body, it all vanished so quickly that she wasn't sure it had ever been there. He squatted down in front of her, his eyes reflecting worry and concern as one hand touched her knee.

"Are you all right?" His voice was normal, not thick or deep as she would have expected a moment earlier.

It was even more frightening to see how completely his body, his emotions, his thoughts, read and imitated hers. Shock and fear had chased the sexual desire right out of her and chased it out of him as well, amazing since it wasn't even his own shock and fear.

She shook her head and then nodded, adding a shrug to the mix to thoroughly confuse him. "I don't know. I guess."

He smiled, finding humor when her answer soothed his fear of imminent peril. "Decisive, aren't you?" He stood up, removing the warmth of his hand from her knee, and sat down beside her, leaving ample space between them. "I came back to tell you that we have reservations at Georgio's at seven."

She nodded, taking a deep breath to calm herself. The ease between them was there, as though there had never been any tension at all. But when her eyes skirted sideways to find his, her heart started to pound in time with the fluttering in her stomach. Reaching out, she set her hand on top of his. "This, this thing," she motioned between them with her other hand. "It's kind of nerve-wracking sometimes." She didn't look at him when she said it and she felt too exposed to look at him afterwards.

His silence worried her, but his hand slowly turned over under hers, linking their fingers together. When she finally glanced back at him, she saw a reassuring smile on his face, probably more for him than for her, because there was complete openness in his eyes. "It scares the hell out of me, Liv."

She shuddered, realizing that he was telling her something he would never admit to Liv. It made her wonder what that meant. Did he see the change in her? Did he know how torn she was between wanting to be Liv and hating her at the same time? Did he trust her more than Liv? Or was it that he knew better than she what Liv's reaction to such a revelation would be and had chosen never to say it?

She was pretty sure she'd never know what to make of it and that Liv wouldn't necessarily appreciate it. She nodded slowly, deciding to accept his answer and his honesty and leave it at that. "So, seven?"

"Unless you changed your mind." His eyes searched hers, looking for any sign of rejection.

"Not on your life." The dress hanging on her closet door caught her attention and she grinned. "Besides, we have to eat, right?"

He nodded. "Yeah, we do have to eat."

"And you might as well pay for it."

Instead of the frown she expected, he grinned. "You sure you don't have your memory back? Cause you sound an awful lot like my Liv."

She laughed, glad that the tension was dissipating again. "Your Liv?'

His cheeks colored as he looked away. "I mean the regular Liv. The one I know."

"Uh huh. Sure." She smiled at his slip. "That's the second time you said that."

"Damn, I was hoping you'd forgotten."

"Hit me with a two by four and I might."

Smiling he stood up and nodded toward the bathroom. "Do you mind if I take a quick shower?"

She nodded with a wink. "Take all the time you need to take care of things."

He closed his eyes to ward off the embarrassment while she laughed. She'd just given him permission to jerk off in her shower. Had she remembered her and him and them, she might have been mortified too for having suggested such a thing. As it was, she only grinned while he turned away, closing the door behind him.

Unable to do anything with her hair and makeup while the bathroom was occupied, she settled on applying her body lotion. True to his word, Elliot's shower was fast. She heard him open the door leading out to the hall first. A moment later, he opened the door into her room.

"Bathroom's free."

She smiled at him, noticing that he was already half dressed and knowing it was to avoid anymore possible awkwardness between them. "Good, now I can make myself pretty."

"Don't waste your time."

She didn't have time to say a word; her face only had a chance to reveal her shock at his words before he was apologizing.

"That came out wrong." He looked down at his hands as he shook his head. "I just meant that makeup isn't going to help."

She hurled one of her pillows at him, hitting him square in the head since he hadn't looked up.

"That came out wrong too."

Still only wearing her towel, Olivia stepped in front of him and carefully crossed her arms over her chest to hold her towel in place. Her position forced him to raise his head for fear of staring at her legs. He was wincing, expecting a sharp reprimand for his stupid words. She tried to look pissed off, but she kept smiling instead. "I should make you grovel."

"As long as you don't shoot me, I'll take it as a win."

"So I shouldn't waste my time with makeup because it's not going to help, huh?"

He swallowed hard. "You said you were going to make yourself pretty and I only meant that you don't need to." He shrugged as his eyes darted everywhere but towards her. "You're beautiful, Liv."

"You're just trying to get into my pants." She giggled until she saw his eyes darken the slightest bit.

"You're not wearing pants."

Leaning in and laying one hand on his bare chest, she quirked an eyebrow. "Makes it easier, doesn't it?"

His eyes fell to her lips, his mouth opening as his tongue came out to moisten his lips unconsciously. When he finally pulled his eyes back up to hers, his pupils were dilated and his breath was coming in quick pants. "You're going to be the death of me, woman."

She loved having power over him, being so easily able to distract him, seeing him fully aware of her power and still letting her have it. Trailing a hand over his shoulder and arm, she let her head fall forward until her lips skimmed his chin. "Go get dressed before I decide I want dessert first."

His head moved down as hers came up and he captured her lips in a kiss. A moment later, his arms were around her body, pulling her weight against him. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, an automatic reaction to keep her balanced. His tongue was forcing its way between her lips, deepening the kiss before she had a chance to cooperate. He was eager, she could feel it in the instantaneous way his body responded, his length beginning to harden against her. Her body moved instinctively to spread her legs and allow one of his to press between them.

His mouth left hers, giving them a second to breathe before he moved on to kissing her jaw and neck. "How about we order in?"

Her laughter morphed into a moan as his tongue traced her clavicle. "Fine with me. Just remember not to ever make reservations at Georgio's in the future." Her arms pulled back so she could cup his face, pulling it back to hers. Then her tongue did the invading, marking his mouth as her territory.

But he pulled back. "Fuck."

"I thought that was the plan."

He smiled, kissing her forehead before he pushed her shoulders away. "I gave them my credit card, so we're paying for dinner whether we go or not."

Her hands caught the waistband of his pants, knowing she could distract him rather quickly. "So?"

His hands moved over hers, pulling them away from his body. "So, I'm probably about to get served with new divorce papers, Liv, therefore I'm not paying for a meal I'm not eating."

She crossed her arms over her chest again, mulling over the idea that he'd admitted to the state of his marriage. It seemed like a big deal, but she wasn't sure why. "Ok, fine. Tease."

He grinned, looking over her body longingly. "Yeah, right. Are you the pot or the kettle?"

"We can still get dessert, right?" She leaned in again, managing to get her lips just against the corner of his before he turned away.

"We'll talk about it later."

Rolling her eyes, she stepped past him into the bathroom. "You're still a tease."

His eyes caught hers in the mirror, his smile forcing one from her as well. "So are you, sweetheart."

She turned around, leaning on the counter and crossing her legs. The towel peeled back, revealing a long, tan leg that caught his attention exactly as she'd planned. "We'll talk about that later too."


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

He left her to get ready then, slinking off to the other room before she had the time to make another attempt. It was just as well with her. She wanted the chance to doll herself up. She wanted to see his reaction to her dress. Judging from how easily she was able to seduce him already, the poor man wouldn't stand a chance in the face of stockings and that dress.

Her hair took more time than she'd anticipated since she had to straighten out the odd way it dried wrapped up in the towel. She didn't have any personal experience with styling her hair to draw from, so it took quite a while with the blow dryer and curling iron before she got it to look right.

She stared at her makeup bag for a long time, trying to decide what to do with her face. She definitely wanted to do herself up, but remembering the way his mouth was all too happy to taste the skin all over her face and neck, she didn't want to put on makeup that might dissuade him from doing it again. Eventually, she opted for powder rather than the thick liquid makeup. She figured there was a chance the powder would wear off before he had the opportunity to taste it. The smile that formed at the thought stayed in place while she continued with her face. Olivia wasn't sure which of the seemingly endless colors she usually wore on her eyes, but she chose a shimmering silver one that she thought would look fancy. Eyeliner was a bit messy, involving three tries and two washcloths to get right. When she applied her mascara, she decided she looked pretty damn good. Mindful of both Elliot's taste buds and the burning heat that tended to accompany Elliot's taste buds in close proximity to her cheeks, she decided blush was unnecessary. She picked a pale rose colored lipstick to finish herself off.

She stepped back from the mirror and admired her handiwork. Olivia thought she looked pretty good and she hoped Elliot would think so too. Of course, he'd said she was beautiful, so she changed her mind and decided to hope Elliot would admit to thinking she looked good. There was something about the almost bashful way he'd offered the compliment both times that told her it wasn't something he did often. With the trauma Liv dealt with on a regular basis, Olivia figured they both deserved to hear that a man thought she was attractive. Especially that man.

Taking the tube of lipstick with her, she returned to the bedroom. She hadn't thought about a bag, hadn't seen any evidence that she ever carried one, but she suspected that as a female, she probably owned at least one. Peering into the closet, she spied some hooks along the back wall. She reached blindly into the dark recesses, grabbing at the first thing she touched. Her hand came out attached to the handles of three bags – a backpack, a brown leather purse, and a small black clutch with a thin silver chain.

It was perfect. She threw the other bags on the floor and shut the door before anything could escape. Olivia hoped she wouldn't be too irritated with herself if she got her memory back and then found her closet laid to waste. The lipstick looked lonely in the bag and Olivia wondered what she might normally keep in there. Probably her badge and gun, she thought, except that Elliot had confiscated both items from her the previous day and she'd seen them lying on Cragen's desk that afternoon. With a laugh, she contemplated putting one of the condoms in there, but she fully intended to have the luxury of a bed while Elliot was exploring the curves of her body. Idly wondering where her drivers license was, she thought that a credit card might come in handy too, if she only knew where she might keep such a thing. But then, she'd only need the credit card if Elliot abandoned her and she didn't honestly see that happening. She stuffed some tissues next to the lipstick instead.

Olivia glanced at the clock and realized it was time to get dressed. She'd already burned most of the time and she didn't have any more to spare. Ducking back into the bathroom, she hung her towel over the rack. As she pulled on her thong, she saw her earrings lying on the dresser and put them in next. She didn't want to forget them because she really liked the way they sparkled just beneath her short hair. Then it was time for her stockings. She sat down on the bed, sliding them on one at a time. Her mind unconsciously imagined his hands in place of hers, slowly moving along the length of her legs. Of course, she giggled, his hands would be removing the thin fabric and, hopefully, his hands would be removing the thin fabric right after dinner. Just as she tugged the second one into place around her thigh, there was a knock at the door.

"Liv?"

Wearing only a thong and stockings, she feared she'd give him a heart attack. "Just a minute." She was still tempted.

"I just wanted to let you know we should be leaving in a few minutes." His voice turned playful and she could practically see the smile on his face. "I wouldn't have expected you to take so long to make yourself pretty considering how there's no point." The moment he finished speaking, she heard him mutter a curse. Open mouth, insert foot. The directions had to be tattooed on the back of his hand or something.

"Don't make me come out there and smack you."

His voice was muffled when he answered and she knew it was because his head was hanging. "You know I didn't mean it like that."

She giggled. "I'm almost ready."

"I'll be here."

Olivia stayed where she was next to the bed until she heard his steps fade down the hall. As much fun as it would have been to open the door dressed as she was, she saw no point in wasting her time with makeup and hair if they weren't going to make it out of the apartment. But as she slipped the dress over her head, she realized there was a very real possibility they weren't going anywhere. The dress left very little of her figure to the imagination and she was willing to bet Liv had never faced Elliot without a bra. With a grin at the mirror, she saw there was just enough give in the body of the dress that he might have no choice but to notice her lack of undergarments.

The buckles on her shoes were the last bit to complete and she hooked them in a flash. She grabbed her purse and headed to the living room, giddy at the idea of watching while Elliot looked at her.

But her enjoyment was somewhat short lived because his eyes locked on hers the moment he came into sight and barely ventured below her neck. A hint of a smile played on his lips, but he wasn't giving her the reaction she wanted. Hell, he wasn't giving her anything.

Not about to have him not notice, she decided to play hardball. She pulled open the closet door beside her. "I should probably find a jacket. I might get chilly." She turned her back to him, intent on revealing her exposed skin.

"Then you should have worn a whole dress." His voice came from right beside her, causing her to jump in surprise.

Her lips started to smile before she even consciously realized how close he was. Her eyes darted to his lips and she started to wonder again if they were going to make it to dinner. "And here I thought you hadn't even noticed my dress."

"Or lack thereof." He rolled his eyes at her, reaching over her shoulder.

Her chin tilted up automatically, although with the additional height her heels provided she needn't have moved much. She expected his mouth to seek hers. She expected his arms would move around her. She expected to feel his body pressing her back against the open door.

She wasn't expecting him to thrust a thick black something in her face. It took her a moment to recover, a moment she belatedly noticed he was enjoying at her expense. As she unwound what turned out to be a wrap, her face burned and she thanked her lucky stars she hadn't bothered with blush. If she had, she'd have looked like a clown. "Thanks." She went to throw the wrap over her shoulders, but his hands stilled hers.

He slid the wrap over her, allowing his fingertips to gloss over her skin in the process. "Of course I noticed your dress. I always notice when you wear that dress."

"Have we gone out before?" She was about to give up on understanding them, since he was indicating having seen one of her three dresses, which she hadn't expected. But it would go a long way to explaining how he knew where in her closet to find the only accessory that might look normal with her dress.

He grinned and shook his head, pulling on his blazer as he moved away. "I've seen you in it before, but I never got to enjoy it."

Without even trying, she could easily picture getting ready for a date in the locker room at work. It was disconcerting, to know that she might expect to spend so much time there that she'd have to prepare for a special night in front of her coworkers, but she didn't know what to think of it. With Elliot's place in her life, Olivia wasn't sure why she'd bother. Was Liv looking for his twin brother or was she just blind?

But as his words seeped into her brain, she started to smile. "Enjoying it, are you?"

"Oh, yeah." He nodded smugly and his hand moved to the small of her back, as it had several times previously, except that he managed to position it between the wrap and her back, allowing his warm palm to press against her bare skin.

A shudder ran through her, rocking her entire body. It truly seemed accidental; his flirting until that point had been much more pronounced. And her reactions to him, despite being painfully obvious and unnerving, had somehow been less intense. It took her a long time to even remember to let out the breath that had lodged in her lungs the moment his skin connected with hers. She shook her head, trying to understand why such a chaste touch would seem so terribly intimate when his tongue had been in her mouth a few minutes earlier without quite making her swoon. Turned on, definitely; lightheaded, no.

As she had come to expect, Elliot noticed immediately. He moved around in front of her, his hand sliding to her cloth-covered side in the process. "Liv, are you ok?"

She sought the comfort, the warmth, the nexus she always found his eyes. The same blue eyes, the same determined face, the same hint of concern she knew better than her own reflection. It centered her. He centered her. "Yeah, I'm ok. You ready to go?"

His eyes held hers for a long time, darting back and forth between her own as he tried to assess her truthfulness. After a pause, he nodded. "Yeah. If we catch a cab, we won't even be late."

Trying to slow her racing heart, she smiled at him. "I wasn't planning on walking far in these shoes."

It seemed like slow motion as his eyes moved down her body, taking forever to reach her rhinestone decorated ankles. He shook his head, a rueful smile forming. "Fuck, I don't know how you even stand up in those things."

She shrugged, unwilling to admit that she wasn't really sure herself considering that she felt kind of wobbly on carpet. Her hands braced on his lapels, her eyes even with his. "You're not taller than me anymore."

He took a moment to observe that she was telling the truth and then shrugged. "Like I've ever used my height against you."

She imagined he was talking about being stronger or faster, but he'd walked into it and she wasn't about to let him go. Leaning harder against him, she felt his other hand move to her side to support her. Her face brushed along his neck, the familiar scent of his cologne tickling her senses, and sending her blood rushing between her legs. Hoping to get the same sort of reaction from him, she purred against his ear. "I'm really hoping you will."

His head moved back until he could look at her. His eyes were dark and hooded. She could feel his heart pounding quickly under her hand. He drew in a sharp breath as his eyes danced all over her face. And then one of his hands released her, his index finger coming to rest against her lips. "I keep forgetting you have amnesia." And then he was an arm's length away without even seeming to move. "Until you say something like that."

Too forward. All that flirting earlier and he hadn't been bothered. They'd kissed earlier too, and even that had been ok. But somehow her voicing that she wanted something to happen was going too far. Shaking her head to will away the sudden hurt, she opened the front door. "We should go."

They stayed in step all the way to the corner where he hailed their cab, but she noticed all too painfully that he stayed out of contact the whole time.


	15. Chapter 15

The quiet between them was a little more stilted and much less comfortable than it had been earlier in the day. Elliot's attention was turned out the window, staring at the buildings as they blurred past the cab. Olivia wasn't sure what to do with herself. Her fingers tucked around the hem of her dress to tug it lower on her legs. She was afraid the lace tops of the stockings would show and she knew that would be the last straw. He was trying to get away from her, backing off from her attempts. She didn't want to reveal that she'd chosen to wear stockings, didn't feel like explaining she couldn't find anything else.

Unfortunately, tugging on the hem pulled the neckline down further resulting in far too much cleavage for someone who wasn't being received well. She yanked it back into place, wishing she had her t-shirt and jeans on. Better yet, a turtleneck and a baggy sweater sounded particularly comforting.

Her hands went back to the hem, still trying to adjust it without showing too much skin on top. It was a frustrating tug-of-war that she was going to lose either way.

And then his left hand covered both of hers, stilling their motion. He didn't look at her, but she was embarrassed all the same since he'd apparently been aware of her tries to cover herself. His fingers curled around her left hand, his thumb rubbing the back of her right.

"You look amazing, Liv." Finally he peeled his eyes from the window, smiling slightly at her. "Relax. It's just me."

She replied without thinking. "Exactly."

She had no idea where the words had come from, no reason for saying them, no concept of why she would be nervous around him when she wasn't comfortable around anyone else. His face revealed his concern at her answer, but he said nothing as he pulled his hand back into his lap.

Georgio's was a quaint, small restaurant with dim lighting and a delectable aroma emanating from the doors. Regardless of the tension between her and Elliot, Olivia couldn't help but feel excited. The atmosphere was unquestionably romantic, leading her to wonder why he'd chosen it. But as they were lead to their table, she slid her arm through his.

Their table was against the back wall, lit by a trio of white candles in the center. Olivia was nervous as she took her seat. The maitre d' pushed the chair in against her legs and she froze, unsure of what she was supposed to do. She actually jumped when he took her napkin, shaking it out flat before laying it in her lap. Thankful for the low lighting, her face burned at the idea she was making a fool of herself. But as she looked at Elliot, she realized that memory had nothing to do with her anxiety. He looked like he was about to jump out of his skin and she knew it didn't have anything to do with her.

The corners of his mouth quirked up. "I'm not used to eating at places like this." She couldn't be sure, but it seemed that he was blushing as well.

"Maybe we should hit up a hot dog cart on the way home." Knowing that he was uncomfortable as she was somehow made her feel better and she was able to relax. They were both out of their element in the fancy restaurant, rather than just her without being able to remember anything.

He grinned and nodded, but he didn't get to respond before the waiter asked for their drink order. Olivia didn't have a clue and shrugged at the waiter. "Merlot?"

Elliot's face revealed shock, his mouth falling open. "It's your favorite." He nodded at the waiter to bring the bottle.

But Olivia held up her hand to stop the man. "But it's not yours, is it?" She wasn't sure where she got the idea, but she was sure of it. Elliot narrowed his eyes at her, but she looked at the waiter. "Bring me a glass. He'll take a scotch, on the rocks."

His mouth curved up more as her eyes turned back to him. "How'd you know that?"

She shrugged. "Just a guess. Was it right?"

"Good guess."

She had considerably more trouble with dinner. The first dish she mentioned, something incomprehensible in English sounded great from the description, but Elliot shook his head and informed her that she was allergic to shellfish and therefore recommended against it, unless she wanted to wind up in the emergency room again. Dissuaded then from the entire seafood list, she moved on to another section of the menu. She was less convinced on her second try, asking him what he thought of the veal dishes.

He shook his head again. "You preached to me so many times about veal that I won't let anyone in my family eat it." He actually looked kind of sick at the thought.

Closing her menu, she set it to the side of her plate and sipped at her wine. "Maybe you should order for me."

"You sure?" He still looked sick and that disturbed her.

"Why not? You know what I like, right?" Irksome as it was to have someone veto her ideas, she thought it was nice that he was protecting her interests, even if they were Liv's interests rather than her own.

He set his menu on top of hers. "I'm not sure you've ever let a man order a meal for you in your entire life." He smiled, a proud sort of smile. "You're not the type of woman who stands for being spoken for."

She sipped more of her drink, realizing that although she didn't remember liking it, the taste was wonderful. "Under the circumstances, I think I can make an exception."

When the waiter returned to refill their drinks, Elliot ordered the same meal for both of them, something with chicken that she decided sounded as good as the other selections she'd made. The silence that filled the table was a lot more comfortable while Olivia searched for something to say. She didn't want to upset him, but the only thing she could come up with was work.

"Your suspension – are you in a lot of trouble?"

He shrugged, swirling his drink around in his glass. "It's not the first time I've been suspended; it won't be the last."

"Hopefully I don't get beat up that often." She couldn't help but feel guilty for it, even if he was playing it off.

"It's not usually your fault." He let go of his glass, clasping one hand over his fist. "I already told you about my problem solving technique."

She hadn't noticed before, but there were scars on the back of his hands, mostly around his knuckles. She could only imagine what sorts of things he'd slammed them into over the years. She recalled how he'd told her she was the sensible one while he was the physical sort. "I thought I was given strict orders to forget you admitted that."

He grinned. "As much as I really do appreciate someone listening to me, I assure you, if I were ever dumb enough to try to order you around, you would absolutely not follow my commands."

"Good to know." She smiled and they lapsed back into silence for a bit. Turning over the various things he'd said to her about her personality, she was starting to dislike herself even more. It sounded very much like Liv was a hard-ass bitch, who didn't take crap or favors from anyone. As nice as it was to know she was self-assured and confident, she didn't like the rest of the picture that was emerging.

But Elliot picked up on her unease despite her attempt to conceal it. "Liv?" Her eyes met his and she offered him a tight smile. It didn't fool him. "What's wrong?"

She found it hard to talk with the emotions running through her. "I guess it makes sense now why you keep pushing me away."

"It does?" The conversation was interrupted while their plates were set before them, but it didn't deter him at all. "What is this great revelation you've had?"

Twirling her fork around in the noodles and failing entirely to get any pasta on it, she instead stabbed at a piece of chicken. "I'm not really soft and fuzzy, am I?"

Elliot choked on his food and had to take several sips of water while he attempted to clear his throat. Finally he shook his head at her with a wide smile. "No, you're not what I'd call soft and fuzzy." He tried another bite of food and chewed it thoughtfully. "In fact, I think you'd be pretty pissed off if anyone described you with the same words you might use for a teddy bear."

She smiled and pushed the chicken around in the sauce. "I'm a bitch, aren't I?"

"In the good sense of the word."

"Is there a good sense of the word?"

He reached across the table, closing his hand over hers. "Yeah, there is." He caught her eyes and smiled. "You can take care of yourself. You can take care of other people. You give a lot more than you're willing to take."

She nodded, appreciating the warmth of his hand, but feeling weird suddenly about the contact. "I guess."

He pulled his hand back and she returned to playing with her dinner. "When I first heard I was getting a female partner, I was pretty pissed off, you know? I thought I'd have to watch out for you and protect you and have to watch my own back since you'd be too delicate to do it."

"But I'm not delicate." She didn't look up and therefore missed the grin on his face.

"Maybe you are, but I've never seen it. You've never given me any cause to worry. I think I'm safer with you than any other partner out there." His head shifted as he tried to get her to look at him, but he eventually gave up. "About a year ago, Cragen was talking about splitting us up."

She looked up sharply, searching his eyes for truth. "Why?"

"He thought we were too close."

Mortified, her head dropped back down. Their boss already thought they were too close and all she'd done was try to make them closer. She squeezed her eyes closed and wished she could undo everything, especially the outfit that seemed completely ill-conceived. "I'm sorry."

He shook his head and reached for her hand. "I'd quit, Liv." Again, her head snapped up, shock causing her mouth to fall open. "There's no one else I'd want to work with. I could never trust anyone like I trust you." It was his turn to be embarrassed. Even in the dim light, his cheeks visibly darkened. "You're my partner, Liv. And I won't ever have another one."

The words were incomprehensible, rolling around in her brain without making any sense. He couldn't mean what he was saying; she wondered if the alcohol was talking. What she was hearing was too intimate, too secret, too important for him to ever confess to her. Elliot wasn't one to share his feelings and certainly not one to display a weakness. Not to anyone, especially not to her.

How she knew that, she couldn't say, but she knew it.

She knew his words were causing her heart to pound and her lungs to rebel. She couldn't quite breathe right and she realized she was shaking.

Olivia looked down at her plate, watching the food swim through her tears. Elliot had confided something to her that she'd never heard before, something she'd known deep down but knew he'd never say, something she felt as well.

Her gasp was lost under the voice of the waiter who'd come by to offer them more drinks and to inquire about their meals. She kept her head down, letting Elliot's short conversation with the waiter buy her some time.

Why were Elliot's words so devastating? How did she know she could have said those same exact words to explain how she felt about him? Why did it scare her so terribly to hear spoken what had never been voiced in a decade?

"Excuse me." She stood up and practically ran from the table, searching down the dark hallway for the bathroom. Once inside, she threw the lock to be sure of her privacy while she sank to her knees.

Because Olivia might have turned to Elliot for comfort, but Liv wouldn't ever show so much of herself.

And she was Liv.

Her memories assailed her as she rocked back and forth, trying to get the floodgates to close on them. She was glad to have them back, to be herself once again, but she didn't know how she'd ever face Elliot again. She'd made such a fool out of herself in front of him. She'd been throwing herself at him continuously since she'd woken up.

And if her own humiliation wasn't enough, she had his to endure as well. He'd just told her something he never, ever would have said if he'd thought she was getting her memory back. The doctor hadn't given either of them any hope that it might return so quickly, without any warning.

Grateful for a moment's distraction, she let herself think about it, realizing there had been a few short bursts of something that might have foreshadowed the idea. She'd been so terribly shaken to feel his palm against her bare back, when an hour before that she'd felt no shame in having his erection pressed against her. She'd instinctively ordered her favorite drink and recalled his too.

But still, even had she understood the warning signs, it was too much.

Not only had Elliot opened himself up with his words, he'd done so physically. And shit, she knew he was getting divorced. He'd actually told her. He'd actually kissed her. He'd actually crawled into her bed and held her.

Her breath caught in her throat when she thought about her nightmares, about the way she'd curled up in his lap, about the way the lengthy embrace had ended – with his hips thrusting against hers, his erection pushing against her core.

She could feel her face grow warm as the blood rushed into her cheeks. She could die from the embarrassment of having to face her own behavior. She'd felt her partner intimately, she'd teased him, she'd chased him. And god damn the man, he'd reacted to her, to her touch. He'd stared at her, he'd made the first move to kiss her, he'd made no attempts to hide his physical desire for her.

It hadn't simply been the opportunity of her sudden willingness, she knew. His body had responded so quickly, so eagerly, that she had no question he was far more willing than she ever would have suspected. Two days before and she would have sworn on her mother's grave that Elliot wasn't attracted to her, that he wouldn't sleep with her even if he had the opportunity. But what she knew was turned on its head. He'd disrupted everything she thought she knew about them the moment he'd touched her, when he'd kissed her, when he'd settled them on the bed that first time.

The knock startled her and she stared at the lock in fear that it would give and he would find her there, crying and hysterical on her knees in the bathroom.

"Liv? Honey, are you ok?"

It wasn't the first time he'd used a term of endearment for her since she'd lost her memory, but it was the first time since she'd remembered that he never would have done it if he'd known exactly who he was talking to.

It shook her to realize how quickly he'd been able to acclimate to the change in her, in them. He'd liked it. He'd liked her dependent on him. He'd liked her clinging to him. He'd like her trying to fuck him.

Her lip curled into a snarl at the realization that he liked Olivia more.

That was just too bad, she thought, because she was Liv, his hard-assed bitch of a partner who wasn't about to take bullshit chivalry or pet names from anyone. He'd taken advantage of her. She wiped at her eyes, took a deep breath and stood up. She had her memories, her life, back, but he didn't know that.

It was time to play hardball.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

She tried to school her features into a doe-eyed vacant stare like she imagined she'd been wearing for the last twenty-four hours and pulled open the door. "Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks for coming to check on me." She smiled at him and allowed herself to notice his handsome features and intense eyes for the first time in their partnership without amnesia and without trying to remind herself of his less attractive qualities. One second of the slightly-pissed off stare she usually had when she looked at him, the one that invariably rose to the surface at the thought that he always belonged to someone else, anyone else, and he'd know she was back.

He didn't back up, instead blocking the door with his broad shoulders and outstretched arm as he sized her up. His eyes inspected her face, searching, studying, finding finally when they narrowed sharply. "Were you crying?" His hands moved, no longer forming an obstacle to her escape, falling on her shoulders, sliding down until his hands cupped her elbows. He stepped closer. "What's wrong?"

In that moment she almost faltered, almost gave into her instinct to brush him off and storm past him. There was something painfully open about him, about his sudden softness, about his blatant concern, about his eyes clouded with worry. She wanted to know that welcoming, comforting side of him with her memory of their time together intact.

But she swallowed, telling herself that he liked helpless better, reminding herself that she wasn't going to mention it until she could get him back good for screwing with her. Rather than her learned response to push away, she gave in to the comfort she felt in close proximity to him. She held her ground and dropped her hands against his forearms. She felt his muscles flex slightly through the fabric of his shirt and jacket and she filed the information away for future rumination – that he still jerked when she touched him, that a little bit of contact initiated by her did something to him, that he couldn't withhold a physical response to her touch.

With a smile she hoped didn't looked forced or nearly as anxious as she felt, she nodded. "I got something in my eye. I'm ok." It was the oldest excuse in the book and she suspected he'd know right then, but she was too freaked out to come up with any other valid reason she might have run sobbing to the bathroom.

He nodded, even as his eyes continued to watch hers. He was looking for a tell, she realized, the way he'd look at a suspect.

It scared her to realize he knew her that well, that he might actually be able to sense that she was no longer the woman who'd been sitting across from him, that he instinctively recognized his partner, that he could somehow divine what was in her brain simply by looking in her eyes. She let herself think of his touching confession, of the revelation that working by her side meant so much to him, but refused to consider any ramifications of it. She knew the idea would cause her affection for him to show in her eyes without her consciously hiding it. She just hoped it would come close to the hero worship Olivia had developed for the man.

He nodded, finally stepping away far enough that she could take a breath of air that didn't smell like him. "Come on, you must be starving." As he turned away, his hands fell away from her.

For all of a second before one of them reached back, catching her hand to lead her back to the table.

It took all of her strength not to run back into the relative safety of the bathroom. Her partner, the man she'd had indescribably inappropriate feelings for throughout the better portion of their partnership, the man who she'd eventually come to terms with as being completely off limits and uninterested in only the previous few months, the last man she truly expected had a sweet, soft side, was being physically demonstrative of his feelings for her.

And he wasn't patting her on the back.

She needed about a year to process everything that she'd witnessed from him. But it was only a few seconds before she was facing him across the table. She took a long sip of her wine, bottoming out the glass, and looked around for the waiter to refill it. While she was waiting, her glance fell on his scotch and she contemplated stealing it from him.

They ate quietly. She pretended to be fascinated by her food. Faking anything in front of Elliot was exhausting. Undercover work was different; it was always accompanied by the adrenaline that came with the fear of being found out. But with Elliot, everything in her told her to let her guard down and relax. Most of the time she could. At least, she could let her guard down most of the way. Her feelings for him always had to be hidden. And it was hard to hide anything from him for more than a few moments. Usually he knew anyway, tried to get her to talk about it, and then she'd promptly refuse to admit it and run away until she felt better. Because while he always knew she was hiding something from him, she knew he didn't have the faintest clue that it was a silly crush that had gotten way out of control and turned into something so all-encompassing that Liv could only identify it as being love.

"Hey, Liv." As soon as she looked up, his head cocked to the side. "Dance with me."

Her heart stopped. She was sure of it.

Elliot had definitely not asked her to dance. It was absolutely outside the realm of possibility. Someone needed to call Fox Mulder and ask him to investigate.

She would never have believed he even knew how to dance, let alone that he'd ever let her know if he could, and that was despite the idea that even if he knew how and was willing to tell her that he would certainly never ask her to dance with him.

Her mouth fell open, so dumbfounded for a moment that she forgot she was pretending anything.

He smiled, apparently ready for her confusion. "Come on. I won't bite."

And suddenly, she was at a crossroads. Because Liv would roll her eyes and tell him that was between him and Kathy. But Olivia would jump at the chance.

With a girlish fluttering in her stomach, she looked up through her eyelashes at him and smiled coyly. "I think that's the problem."

He'd been planning on her confusion at his suggestion, but not for her return to flirting. He looked surprised, as though his rebuff leaving her apartment should have been strong enough to end her incessant tempting. He swallowed so hard she could hear it and stood up. She didn't know what else to do when his hand hovered in front of her. She slipped her hand into his and bit back the urge she had to giggle as Olivia had been so fond of doing.

The dance floor was so small that she hadn't even noticed it when they'd walked past it on their way in. Of the four couples in the place, she and Elliot were the only one who dared to venture out on the wooden square. Nervous wasn't enough to explain the way her body was shaking; panic was closer, yet still a little too mild to describe the way her whole body threatened to dissolve into a puddle of goo.

Thankful for the perfect excuse of not remembering how, Liv waited with her hands at her sides for Elliot to guide her. His eyes held hers with a glint of mischief as he lifted her arm to drape around his shoulders. With his other hand, he took hers, cradling it against his chest rather than holding it out to the side as she'd expected.

Because in whatever single neuron in her brain that could comprehend both Elliot dancing and dancing with her, there was a firmly entrenched notion that he'd hold her hand out in the traditional style.

And then his arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her body firmly against his, laying his open hand flat against the tender skin of her exposed lower back.

With the added height her shoes loaned her, their faces were even. He took advantage of it, pressing his face against hers. She took a moment to wonder if it was worth risking a heart attack to play a game with him because she was pretty sure she was having one.

She was dancing cheek to cheek with Elliot Stabler. She could only hope he didn't notice she was weak in the knees.

If there was music playing, she couldn't hear it. She couldn't see either, not with the way her eyes sealed shut the moment his skin found hers. There was only the pounding of her heart echoing in her ears, seeming to increase with every second in response to his hot breath searing her cheek and ear.

She'd known Elliot for so very long that she knew almost everything there was to know about him. Except for the occasional curve ball he threw her, like with the idea that he could and would dance, nothing he did surprised her. Out of all the adjectives in existence, she could put them in order of their correlation with her partner.

Unfortunately, she'd been very, very wrong about him.

Because graceful would have been about at the bottom of the list, down there with innocent and stupid and chubby. Yet he was, magically uniting his bulky muscles and lanky height, forming a strong, solid column of elegance and refinement that moved her pliant body with him across the floor. Olivia had never been a big fan of dancing; she'd always thought it was far more intimate than she was willing to get with most people, even more than sex really. Sex was more equal in her book, as much about getting as giving, and it was a purely instinctive, physical drive. Dancing, on the other hand, was about being close, touching, togetherness.

And after the twelfth grade, Olivia had never been so moved to be in contact with anyone as to enjoy having his body pressed against hers without any chance of getting off.

The whole experience was overwhelming; leaving her clinging to him in a fashion she'd never thought herself capable. As if practically swooning wasn't enough simply at the concept of being in his arms, his hand began to move, slowly, carefully stroking the skin of her back, his fingers gently skimming the top of the swell of her ass, dipping ever so little beyond the edge of her dress. His fingertips roved over a tiny circle, sucking out what little strength she had left.

Her head dropped, suddenly too heavy to support. Her forehead brushed his shoulder before she turned her face in, pressing her closed eyes against his neck, letting her breath fall across his throat. Her arm slipped, no longer reaching over to rest on his other shoulder. Instead her hand cupped the shoulder she was leaning on, her arm laying against his. She could feel his muscles flex as his hand moved up, abandoning her lower back in favor of climbing up between her shoulder blades and lightly grasping the back of her neck.

They were barely moving by then. Whatever part of him had been focused on moving them around the floor had shifted to something else, something she believed was controlling himself in public. She could feel the tension in his whole body, his shuddering intake of breath, the shift of his hips to press himself ever so lightly against her. She could feel him, his desire, his erection beginning to form. They'd never shared such a moment, such openness physically or mentally, not while they were both conscious. She realized he didn't know they were sharing it even then. And it made her feel like shit.

She withdrew the hand he'd been holding over his heart, sliding it down to circle around his waist, sliding inside his jacket to pull him even closer. Without her hand to hold, his hand dropped as well, skimming across her back on its way around her, pulling her directly in front of him into a hug.

They weren't moving at all anymore, having given up any pretense of dancing. They were holding each other. It made her shiver to realize it, to comprehend that they were sharing a far more intimate hug than they had after his son had been born, to know he wanted to explore their connection, to feel the undeniable reaction he had to her touch.

His chin slid down, his five o'clock shadow scraping across her forehead as his face sought hers. She didn't, couldn't, deny her own reaction to him and felt her head lifting of its own accord, angling to the left as his mouth moved to cover hers.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

Having kissed him several times, amnesia or no, in the previous day, Olivia expected that she'd be somewhat prepared for it. Had she thought about it, she might have been better able to understand that having kissed someone who, for all intents and purposes, was a stranger, would absolutely not take any of the shock out of the first real contact of his mouth on hers.

And even having understood for several years that she was extremely attracted to Elliot and would have been more than willing to kiss him, she still wasn't quite aware of how desperately she wanted that touch.

There was a moment, just as his mouth pressed fully against hers, that she was almost disappointed. In that instant, when she didn't faint or see fireworks or feel the world rock off its axis, she thought maybe it was just a kiss, just like hundreds of others, not special enough to merit risking her job.

But then the thought more fully struck her, the stark reality bouncing around in her skull, resonating through her entire body as she began to shake. She was kissing Elliot. Elliot was kissing her. His mouth was open and his breath was hot and his hands were insistent and his body was demanding.

And oh god his tongue was touching her lips.

And then his tongue was in her mouth, making his claim and marking his territory and stealing her breath.

The kisses they'd shared before, when she didn't know him, had been nice – wet and hot and sexy. But the memories of who they were, of what they'd seen, of everything they'd survived by each other's sides, of the unspoken, inescapable bond between them - the knowledge changed it. She couldn't think, not with the way his body was taking over hers, but she couldn't stop thinking either. She kept repeating to herself that Elliot was kissing her. Elliot's tongue was in her mouth. Elliot was nipping at her lips. Elliot was encouraging her to explore his mouth. Elliot was shifting the length of his body along hers.

For the love of god, Elliot Stabler was hard as a rock, his pelvis rocking into hers, pressing his length into her, seeking more fulfilling pressure.

For those other kisses, she'd been in charge. She'd been ruled by the mere sensation, a physical desire for more telling her to seek it. He'd been in a different position, having all the information she'd been lacking, he'd been unable to resist her, desperate to deepen their bond, powerless to stop his body from responding to her touch. His behavior clicked into focus, his hot and cold see-sawing made sense to her as it hadn't before. Because the attraction between them demanded his body respond, the overpowering link causing his body to act on the most primitive urges, until he consciously realized what he was doing, understood that he wasn't supposed to give in, which caused him to pull away.

The same behavior she'd wanted to torture him over, the whole reason she'd wanted to get even with him, suddenly made perfect sense. He hadn't been taking advantage of her; she'd been taking advantage of him. But she couldn't feel bad for her actions or do anything to make it up to him. She was hardly in a position to confess her lie.

With no conscious thought, her mouth disconnected from his, her forehead flopping down against his chest. She was out of breath, shaking and not quite able to stand. The guilt rose up immediately, strangling her already choked airway. Every time she'd flirted with him, every time she'd teased him, every time she'd tried to seduce him, she'd thrown him off balance, sending him reeling. She'd been torturing him, without even fully realizing how cruel she was being, and he kept coming back for more. She may as well have been a drug he couldn't live without; he was addicted to her. As though once that line had been crossed, that first time he'd reached for her, that first contact of their lips, he couldn't resist anymore. He couldn't get enough.

And she understood perfectly how he'd felt because she wasn't sure she could survive without touching him. It was like the forbidden fruit; once tasted, she couldn't go back to the way it had been before.

His hands moved to her face, pulling her lips back to his, just barely glancing over them as he rained kisses along her jaw. Her fingers clawed at his clothes, the one at his waist close to lifting his shirt, needing to feel his skin. But his lips skimmed down the column of her throat, his mouth opening to let his tongue touch her there, where her pulse beat against her skin, causing her hand to forget what it meant to do.

"Oh, El." Her hands fisted involuntarily; her body so over-sensitized at his touch that she was sure a few more seconds would have her climaxing, loudly and publicly. She forced her head up off his shoulder so she could press her lips to his ear. "Take me home."

It was a request, a plea, a prayer that stripped her raw. She had no defenses, no walls, no protection left. The physical need for him, the one she'd always been so skilled at hiding and denying and shoving back, the emotional void that only he could fill, it was finally too much. She couldn't hide it anymore and she didn't want to. Not once she knew the pleasure of his hands on her. Not once she knew the feeling of his lips caressing her skin.

His hands dropped to fold around her lower back, the stiff fabric of his suit coat raising goosebumps on her bare skin. His lips were on her ear, his breath tickling her neck, his body warming her with its burning heat. "Give me a minute, baby."

She lay her head down again, settling it against his shoulder. The position felt so familiar she could hardly believe it was one they'd never been in before. She savored the feeling, the acceptance, the reassurance, the love, waiting for him to regain enough control of his body that they could leave the relative privacy of their embrace without making a scene.

As fast as his body had been to come to attention at her proximity, it seemed to take forever for him to soften enough that he could pull away. She couldn't honestly say which one of them was shaking, or perhaps more accurately, which one of them was shaking more. She did know that she was staggering as she moved, unable to coordinate her feet, leaning heavily on Elliot to avoid falling. And rather than leaving his hand against the small of her back as he'd been doing for years, his body was much closer, pressed fully against her side with his arm completely around her waist, his hand holding the curve of her hip.

She would have been embarrassed for how clumsily she fell into her chair except that Elliot had done the same thing, his body slamming heavily into his own.

He looked at her over the table with half of his mouth twisted up to smile. "I've never been so sure my legs were going to give out."

Grinning, she nodded. She wanted to stare at him, hold his warm stare, but she couldn't. He'd revealed himself completely to her, opened the armor she knew so well to show her how tender and sweet he really was. But he'd done it in response to what he thought was a perfectly innocent pursuit from a woman who didn't know him, a woman she was almost sure he would gently reject at home to preserve the relationship that meant so very much to him.

A lump lodged in her throat, choking her, threatening to bring tears back to her eyes. She was the biggest asshole of all time. Lower than the lowest criminal they'd ever met. Besides the guilt, the heavy, unbearable burden that made her want to scream in pain, there was something more, something worse. Because Elliot would eventually find out. Because she'd eventually have to tell him. Because he would hate her, never, ever forgive her, for misleading him. He thought he was showing vulnerability to someone who depended on him completely.

Not his partner. Not the last person on Earth he'd ever suspect would understand let alone respect that he had such a softness for her.

And if she ever had to face the day when he severed their partnership, their friendship, their convoluted, unquestionable love, she would die. He might as well just shoot her. Which, she reluctantly had to admit, might actually happen.

For some inexplicable reason, the situation brought to mind that message she used to get on her computer eons earlier, when she'd first been trying to figure out just what the hell the device had to do with her life. The black screen with the white letters staring at her – abort, retry, fail, ignore. She bit her lip and hazarded a quick glance at her partner. She wanted to choose all of the above. Anything to get her out of the colossal mess she'd made.

Anything to keep him from thinking she'd deliberately wanted to hurt him.

He was distracted by the waiter, refusing the server's attempt to wrap their dinners to go. The other man nodded, clearing the plates from the table and looking between them expectantly. "Would you be interested in having dessert this evening?"

Olivia swallowed hard as Elliot's eyes caught hers. He winked at her and then turned to the waiter. "We have alternate arrangements."


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

Wanting to sink through the floor, Olivia kicked herself and tried to postpone the inevitable moment when Elliot would discover that she was the meanest little fuck of all time. Slipping back into the persona Elliot wouldn't have any desire to kill, she smiled as the waiter dropped their check on the table and disappeared. "Still going to tell me we're just friends?"

He nodded, answering the question in what Olivia knew was technically all honesty. "Yes." But then he winced and looked away. His shoulders lifted in a shrug. "No."

His confusion, his admission made her heart pound and her mouth dry. She couldn't believe they were finally at that moment where it would all come out and she wouldn't have to hide it anymore.

His eyes were everywhere but on hers and she hated that she'd made him uncomfortable. "Yes."

But the other Olivia would have gotten a hell of a kick out of the answer that was still technically completely honest. "Which is it?"

He lifted his scotch, draining the glass of the alcohol and melted ice. Then he cleared his throat and looked her directly in the eye. "We're not sleeping together."

She grinned, recognizing the dodges she always used when people grilled her as to the nature of the complicated relationship. "Not at the moment."

She expected a flippant answer from him, had chosen the snarky response purposely to give him an out. But he reached across the table for her hand, dragging his thumb over her palm, his jaw clenching at the sight of the red scratches from the previous night. The tears in her skin had been superficial, enough to draw blood, but they barely hurt and Olivia had forgotten entirely about them until he reminded her. She closed her hand over his, rubbing her thumb across the back of his hand, trying to reassure him.

But his brow was furrowed and his eyes were wet with unshed tears and, to her amazement, he didn't even try to hide them. "I'm sorry, Liv. I would never-" His words stopped abruptly and for the briefest of moments, she could have sworn she saw his chin tremble.

She nodded, shivering at the thought that he was talking to her, to the woman he knew, not to the woman she was pretending to be. She wasn't sure if he knew or if he simply wanted to be certain she'd remember. "It doesn't even hurt anymore. Don't worry about it."

Her words were truer than she realized until they crossed her lips. Her hands and knees didn't hurt. Nothing hurt. Since she'd experienced the pure magic of his touch, it felt like all of her wounds had healed. His feelings for her replaced the gaping holes left in her from her mother's drinking and her father's existence. He made her feel normal. He made her feel special.

Ready to cry herself, her eyes dropped to their clasped hands. It didn't help her control to see that his ring finger was bare, except for the pale line marking where a thin gold band had once proved to be the insurmountable obstacle between them. Her mouth fell open, recalling the confession of the state of his marriage, the overheard phone call. It had taken him a long time to remove his ring the first time, even longer to actually sign the divorce papers. But the second time was different - he'd admitted it and he'd taken off the ring so quickly. It appeared that he was really through with Kathy.

He stood up suddenly, leaving his hand in hers while he moved around to sit in the chair adjacent to hers. Olivia noticed the other diners, and the restaurant staff, had turned to watch and she wanted to laugh. They'd all witnessed the behavior on the dance floor and now, she knew, they were expecting the show of Elliot sliding off his chair onto one knee. She managed to not laugh, but there was no way to prevent the smirk that appeared.

He didn't know what to make of her smile, not in the midst of a serious talk. "What?"

Her eyes moved over the expectant faces. "We have an audience."

"What the hell?" He copied her movement, looking back at her for an answer.

"If you're not about to propose, they're going to be very disappointed." She saw confusion and then understanding dance over his features.

He ducked, embarrassed for the attention he was getting. "I should probably wait until I'm legally divorced before I get engaged, right?"

Although he was only making a joke, it still sent a chill through her. He hadn't laughed and declared how preposterous the thought was. He hadn't told her he wanted to patch things up with Kathy. He hadn't mentioned that he'd sit on the divorce papers for a year. He especially hadn't said something like if he ever wanted to get married again, it certainly wouldn't be to her.

She leaned in and winked. "So you want to pretend to propose so they can clap and go back to their dinners?" Expecting a hearty laugh at the idea, she was shocked to get silence.

Even more shocked to see him shrug. "Would you say yes?"

It took a depth of self-control she hadn't known she possessed not to let him see that she knew he'd just crossed a line they'd never even approached in the past. She didn't want to giggle and flirt. She didn't want to pretend she didn't remember them enough to know how special the conversation was. Even if it was just for pretend, it seemed like he really wanted to know. Instead of telling him that she'd just come to grips with the idea that she did actually want to get married and, surprisingly, that she did actually want to get married to him, she winked at him. "You feeling lucky?"

He stared at her, his eyes sliding back and forth between hers. His head nodded toward the dance floor and his hand squeezed hers. "Yeah, as a matter of fact, I am."

She actually shuddered, knowing the motion passed through her hand to alert him of it. "Then ask me."

For some reason, he looked down, the slightest suggestion of a frown appearing. "Can't, I'd scare you off."

It was a perfectly logical explanation for her because of her pronounced tendency to run away when relationships became too close. It wasn't, however, something the Olivia with no memories would understand. Playing stupid, she feigned confusion. "How would that scare me?"

He looked away as he answered, checking to see if people were still watching. "Or give you ideas."

It occurred to her then that she was facing a rare opportunity to play flirtatiously with Elliot. Sure, they'd flirted on occasion, but it wasn't the sort of flirting normal people did. It tended to happen at crime scenes or other strange places and usually involved Elliot's gloved hands picking up a whip or a leather suit or particularly offensive porn magazine followed by one of them suggesting the other would look good using or wearing or posing in the same fashion. So while average people might walk away from flirting with a smile or flattered, they tended to walk away insulted or mortified in front of the crime techs, and that was only on the rare occasions that the comment didn't start the short trip into a big fight.

Amused by the idea of being able to play, Olivia couldn't resist. She licked her lips, making sure his attention was back on her, and then let her leg slide forward, very deliberately pressing it against his as she extended it. Watching his eyes drop to watch her body touch his, she smiled. "I thought you liked my ideas."

He took a deep breath before he pulled his eyes back to hers. "Oh, I like your ideas all right." His brought his other hand over to fold on top of their still joined hands. "Casey was right about you being a trouble maker."

"Fine, I won't make anymore trouble." She couldn't help but giggle as she withdrew her leg, making it quite obvious she hadn't conceded anything as she repeated her movement in reverse. He shifted in his chair uncomfortably and she smirked, knowing without having to look that she'd just made it impossible for him to leave again. Pretending to be completely innocent of the result, she stared at him. "So, what was it that was so important you had to come all the way over here and disappoint all these people since we've already determined it wasn't to ask me to marry you?"

All the levity left his face, bringing back the heavy, thick atmosphere at their table. "You keep asking me if we're just friends." He glanced at her, looked down, and then slowly dragged his eyes back to hers. "And we are." He paused to let out a sigh and she wanted to tell him to stop with the drama, but her voice refused to interrupt what was so obviously taking a lot for him to say. "I feel like I'm lying to you when I say that." His eyes grew moist with tears again as one of his hands lifted to stroke her cheek. "That's all we are, Liv, but I want more." His hand fell back to his lap, taking his gaze with it.

It was an amazing moment, beautiful and breathtaking and perfect and she hated him for it. Damn the man for saying that when she couldn't respond to it for real, when she had to pretend to be someone else hearing those words, when she knew it was likely the only way she'd ever hear them.

Screwing up all of her strength, she willed herself not to cry and smiled stupidly at him instead. "Isn't that why we're leaving here without having any dessert?"

She had to pretend it didn't break her heart when he looked up, obviously hurt that she wasn't taking him seriously. But she wanted to know what he was expecting, telling her that when he believed she had no real idea of just how big his words were. Looking down, she wished she could rewind it, tell him the truth about her before he said it, so she could tell him how much it meant to her, so she could tell him she wanted more too.

Then his hand was on her face again, holding her chin up to force her stare to meet his eyes. "God damn it, Olivia, stop screwing around!"

She jerked back from his hands, pulling her face out of his grasp and her hand as well. She was as familiar as anyone with his temper, but she truly hadn't been expecting it to flare at that moment, in that setting. She'd never seen him explode while he was touching her either.

Her upset was genuine, her momentary, innate fear real; she didn't have to fake a reaction. Having seen his explosions many, many times and even being on the receiving end of quite a few, she knew how it would go. She'd feel bad for being afraid, short-lived and unnecessary as the fear always was; he'd apologize. Sometimes the apology would consist of nothing more than a dejected, pathetic expression on his face that she knew meant he couldn't even voice how awful he felt about scaring her, but it was always there and almost always immediate.

She was beyond surprised when he stood up angrily and stalked off the pay their bill without a word. She said nothing when he came back, waiting for him to say he was sorry, since he couldn't reasonably expect a woman with amnesia to put up with his mood swings unless he verbalized some explanation.

She almost fell when he grabbed her wrist and pulled her to her feet, half dragging her until she recovered enough to start walking. It took several minutes of chasing him while her wrist stayed imprisoned in his hard first before she could find words.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" To hell with pretending anything, if he didn't release her hand in the next second, she'd have him all ready for the New York City Boys Choir. And no matter how much begging he did, he was absolutely not getting out of replacing her wrap, the one designer item she'd splurged on in her entire life, that was dragging along the ground behind her, barely having been grabbed before he yanked her out of the restaurant.

He didn't let go. The pressure didn't let up. He didn't even look back at her. "I'm taking you home. You're so fucking hot to get there." He stepped out into the street to hail a cab, unconcerned when she tripped off the curb in her ridiculous shoes.

"Get off me." She was about to follow up her demand with a string of four-lettered words and possibly a threat to tell Cragen he'd manhandled her, but a cab screeched to a halt in front of him.

He opened the door and tossed a few bills onto the seat, calling out her address to the driver. Then he looked back at her, flinging her arm back at her like she'd bit him. "Don't worry, I'm not about to touch you again."

Her chin trembled, allowing him to see true fear that his words weren't false, weren't just the product of anger. "What's wrong?" He'd been so wonderful to her. He'd said the perfect things. He'd held her and kissed her and made her feel more loved than she ever had in her life. The dinner had been the stuff dreams were made of.

"What's wrong? You want know what's wrong?" He looked away from her to answer the interjection from the cabbie with a promise that he didn't care if the meter was running. Then he turned back to her, pulling her closer. Instead of a comforting hug or some measure of reassurance that she hadn't done anything to deserve his outburst, he pushed her back against the open door of the cab, leaning in to shout in her face. "You think this is some kind of game? Well then fine, you fucking win, ok? I fold. You got me to make an ass out of myself. Congratulations. I'll survive. But spare me the wide-eyed innocent routine and just admit that you did it because you're a rotten bitch."

She narrowed her eyes, hating him for getting in her face and yelling, hating herself for letting him. And she had to admit she was letting him because he was so caught up in his fury that she could have dropped him with a well-placed knee and elbow. But she couldn't bring herself to physically harm him, not even with the bruises she knew would be appearing on her wrist. "I take it you don't mean that in the good sense of the word."

His eyes widened for a split second as he realized she was throwing his words back at him. He was shaking when his hands closed around her shoulders, using his strength to shove her towards the interior of the cab. "You stay the hell away from me and I might not kill you."

She'd never felt his hands on her like that. They were rarely on her at all, but those times, they'd never been rough. It hurt when she fought against him and she hated that he was causing it, trying to force her to do anything. It hurt to see his unbridled anger aimed at her. It hurt to not know why he wanted to cause her pain. Reaching up, she tried to get enough of a grip on his hands to pull them free. "What did I do?"

His hands gave in to her attempts to move them, suddenly removing the pressure on her shoulders. She jerked forward, stumbling into him since she wasn't fast enough to stop pushing against his hands before they moved. He took the opportunity to take her face in both hands without even a hint of softness, forcing her to look at him. It didn't take much force, however, because she was staring at him, tears beginning to spill down her cheeks.

He moved closer, bringing their bodies almost as close as they'd been while they were dancing. But his words were harsh and his voice furious as he spat the explanation at her. "I'm trying to tell you that I'm in love with you and you're pretending you don't know who the fuck I am. That's what you did. That's what the hell is wrong with me."

There was no pause, no hesitation, no chance for her to grasp all the things he'd told her in one breath. He turned and left, his long stride and powerful legs carrying him away from her so fast it seemed like he was running.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

She didn't have to think before she responded; her body knew to give chase. She'd spent years running a few feet behind him. Of course, although those years had been spent running in heels, she'd never attempted it in such high heels, nor in such a short skirt. Whenever she worked undercover, in the occasional stint as a working girl, she'd hold her weapon, but allow the others to take on the foot pursuit.

Still, she ran after him, determined to close the distance. He seemed to move faster with every passing second and, in her state of dress, she was getting a lot of attention from the foot traffic, which didn't help her catch up.

"Damn it, Elliot, wait."

She didn't know what she'd say when she caught him. So he'd figured out that she was pretending, but he hadn't indicated when. She had no idea. For all she knew, he might think the entire night had been for pretend.

"Elliot, stop!" The straps of her shoes were digging into the skin of her feet, those precious rhinestone buckles she'd loved so much tearing at her with every step. She made a mental note, in case she was ever struck with amnesia again, to put notes on her shoes to remind her which ones were too painful to wear.

He continued walking, just shy of a run, weaving his way through the crowd. Elliot was gaining just as much attention as Olivia, however, between his imposing stature and the pure fury radiating from him, the crowd parted to let him through. She'd seen Elliot walking away from her a million times; she'd seen him walking away from her in anger a million times too.

But she'd never been so afraid that he might never look at her again.

The desperation she felt shone through in her voice, in the way it raised an octave, in the tearful way the words came out. "Elliot, please!"

There was something to be said of the magic word, something miraculous, because Elliot stopped dead, folding his arms in front of him as he waited, without looking back, for Olivia to catch up to him. She almost couldn't believe it, but she wasn't about to test her luck. Keeping her pace, she hurried to get to him before he could change his mind.

"Elliot, please don't run away from me. We need to talk." She crossed in front of him, trying to catch his eye.

He kept his head stubbornly away, avoiding her every attempt. "There's nothing to say."

She could see in his posture, in the set of his jaw, in his short breaths, that he was in no mood to talk. He wasn't about to calm down and be rational. And she couldn't blame him. She reached out, laying her hand on his crossed arms. "I know you're mad and you have every right to be, but I deserve a chance to explain."

He yanked his arms away from her, backing up a step. And then his eyes locked on hers, full of a myriad of emotions she wished she'd never seen. "You don't deserve shit from me."

She wanted to try to touch him again. Hell, part of her wanted to fling herself into his arms. But she stood her ground and tried not to do anything that would piss him off further. He was too upset to let her hands fall on him and she didn't want to see him reject her again. Hanging her head, she nodded to let him know she understood.

"Are we done now?" His voice was still harsh, but it seemed that his anger was fading the slightest bit. Still, his words cut her to the quick.

She shifted sharply to the left, finally succeeding in meeting his eyes for a second. "I hope not."

If seeing the tears in her eyes moved him, he didn't show it. But at least he wasn't attacking any longer. "Can I go now?"

She knew he wasn't about to listen to her. He'd only stopped out of fear that she'd make a scene or, worse even, that some beat cop might notice the fight and intervene. "Will you please let me explain?"

His eyes found hers again, locking on and staring at her with a frightening intensity. "What the fuck can you possibly say that will make this ok?" The hatred in his voice made her shiver. She could hardly reconcile it with the soft, sweet voice that had whispered in her ear while they were dancing.

She thought about his words – the tender revelations and the hostile attacks. And she realized it made perfect sense, at least with the information he had. He'd opened up, confessed things, expecting that she would admit she had her memory back. When she hadn't, when she'd continued pretending, he thought it was a joke, that she was making fun of him, that she wasn't interested in what he was telling her, that she didn't feel the same.

The only way to get him to forgive her was to reveal her own feelings, to pour herself out there for him to see, to give him the opportunity he'd given her.

Taking a deep breath, she took the ultimate leap of faith. "I was afraid, El."

He didn't give her much of a chance. "Afraid of what? Huh?" He stepped closer to her, crowding her, trying to intimidate her.

She didn't wince, didn't back up, didn't give him the justification to storm away again, didn't give him what he fully expected. Instead she stood there, rolling her eyes in a show of strength against his ferocity. "Certainly not of you."

His eyes stayed on hers, narrowing as he considered her words. Because he had done a hell of a job scaring the hell out of her when she had no memory. Because he had laid his hands on her when he was about to blow apart at the seams. But he took her words at face value and stepped back, perhaps realizing it was pointless to try and bully her.

She started again, trying to choose her words more carefully so as not to set him off again. "I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to stop. I was afraid if I told you I remembered everything that you wouldn't-" A wave of emotion rolled over her, crushing her voice into tears. She hadn't told him because she was afraid of exactly what had happened.

"That I wouldn't what?" Whatever he was waiting for, she still hadn't found it because he sounded every bit as irate.

She knew she was taking a huge chance, but she didn't see any other way to get through to him. Closing the distance between them, she cupped his face in her hands and met his cold eyes. "I was afraid that you wouldn't want me anymore once you knew it was me." She saw nothing, no hint that she was getting through to him, so she dropped her hands, hanging her head as well. "And I loved the idea that you did want me so much that I didn't want it to end."

There was a hell of a lot of silence following her words, silence that nearly killed her.

"I need some time, Liv."

She looked up, searching his face. She didn't know what she'd been waiting to hear, but it wasn't that. "What does that mean?" She didn't want to be the stereotypical woman demanding that her man explain himself, but she couldn't let him walk away without knowing if he was ever coming back or if it was over that quickly.

One of his hands lifted, lightly running over her cheek. "I don't know." He stepped toward her and let his lips press against her forehead. "I just need some time, ok?"

She nodded, deciding it was worth taking what he could give her, accepting the truth of his uncertainty. "Ok." It wasn't what she wanted, but it was all he had to give. That was enough for her.

"Night."

For the second time that evening, she watched him walk away from her. Regardless of the fact that they'd seemed to reach some kind of understanding, at least that they'd reached an agreement to attempt to reach some kind of understanding in the future possibly, she hated the sight of his outline fading into the crowd.

Miserable, sore and disappointed, Olivia turned for home. She concentrated on putting one complaining foot in front of the other the whole way, refusing to even think of the pleasant way the evening had started out, denying the enchanting way it had threatened to end for a little while. And before she knew it, she was at her front door.

Her feet were blistered and her legs were cold and there she was with a tiny little evening bag holding a lipstick and a wad of tissues, facing the locked front door of her building. She didn't have the faintest idea where her keys were. And even if she'd been willing to risk permanent damage to their relationship by crowding him with a phone call when he'd asked for space, Olivia couldn't even guess where her phone was.

One of her neighbors would probably let her into the building, but it wouldn't help much in the long run, so she sat down on the steps. For lack of anything better to do, she carefully twisted the chain of her purse around one way and then the other. She pulled her ruined wrap tight around her shoulders and chastised herself for the hundredth time about going out dressed like a hooker.

She had no idea how much time had passed. She only knew that she'd turned down three invitations to let her in from various neighbors and two ladies who offered directions if she was lost. There'd been one man who'd eyed her for a long time that Olivia just knew was trying to decide if she was a pro. Although she would have relished the chance to let out a bit of her frustration, she was glad when he ultimately walked away since she didn't have a badge or a gun and it was probably a bad idea after all.

As she stared down the street, she sized up the limited number of people who were still out roaming. She involuntarily compared each to Elliot – one was too skinny, one had too much hair, one was too short, another moved exactly wrong. But there was one that she contemplated from a block and a half away. He was the right height and build and even his hairline looked right. Then he passed under a street lamp and she saw him, determined and focused, heading straight for her.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

She allowed herself a tiny smile while he was still too far away to see. Then she trained her eyes on her hands and tried not to be too excited. Her heart didn't care and started to do double time while adrenaline surged through her. Finally, his body moved in front of her and she looked up, shrugging at his curious expression. "I don't have my keys."

He smiled, digging into his pocket and producing them sheepishly. "That's kind of convenient."

She was alarmed for a moment, fearing that he thought it was an ambush that would send him running away. She was too damn happy to see him, with or without keys, to let him get away. "No, I swear, I forgot all about them."

He offered her a hand to stand up. "No, it's ok. I really meant it's convenient. You don't have any keys and I don't have any place to stay." He looked down, seeming as embarrassed for forgetting about his collapsing marriage as she was about her keys.

Accepting the hand he'd offered, she smiled back. "When you're right, you're right."

He opened his mouth to reply, but his words were lost under her yelp. As soon as she'd put weight on her left ankle, the pain stabbed through her. She jerked her foot up in response, completely losing her balance and falling heavily against Elliot.

She jumped back, trying to balance on one foot. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"Shh. Don't." He leaned down, running his hand along her bent leg, pulling it forward.

She could see the swelling immediately, especially with the unflattering way it had done so around the cute little rhinestone buckle. Clearly remembering how she'd tripped when he pulled her off the curb to the taxi, she was tempted to kick him. It was only the knowledge that doing so might hurt considerably that stopped her. "Damn it."

He looked up sympathetically. "It's probably a sprain, but we should take you to get it looked at anyway."

"Like hell." She tried to pull her foot back and yank down her dress at the same time, only realizing it was a bad idea when his hands had to steady her. "A bag of ice and some aspirin and I'll be good as new."

"You're the boss." He settled her arm around his shoulders as he put his arm around her waist, supporting her while she hopped up the steps. "Ice and aspirin, that I can handle. You being like new, however," He turned toward her, letting his breath fall on her cheek. "Well, let's just say I like the old you better."

She wanted to squeal with happiness that he was flirting with her when he knew full well who she was and she remembered every minute of the decade they'd been partners. Instead she slugged him with her purse. "Who are you calling old?"

Ten minutes could make a world of difference. Olivia would swear to it. Ten minutes earlier, she'd been freezing and miserable and completely without a plan.

But in ten minutes, Elliot had returned, done most of the work getting her to her apartment since hopping in her heels was even more painful than walking, gotten her a bottle of water and ibuprofen, retrieved her blanket – the rose one she'd hated without the benefit of knowing that it had been her grandmother's and then her mother's, and was searching through the channels for something "funny" as per Olivia's request.

With a repeat of Friends playing in the background, Elliot squished himself onto the end of the couch she was occupying, having to lift her wounded feet into his lap to make room. The stress of the night and all the wine she'd ingested left her feeling slightly groggy. One of her arms was pillowed behind her head, the other pinned the blanket close to her chest to ward off the cold she continued to feel.

Elliot, for his part, hadn't said much else, but he was there and he was touching her and the intense warmth of his body was seeping through him and into her even as he held the ice pack against her swollen joint. The medicine was working and she was feeling more content than she legitimately should have been given the upended state of their relationship. She was enjoying the view, with the way he'd removed his jacket and tie and had his shirt half unbuttoned and his sleeves rolled up his forearms. Her eyes were getting heavy, staying closed as much as they were open, and she was pretty sure she was about to fall asleep right where she was. The idea made her smile; the idea of where Elliot would sleep making her smile harder. Odds were he'd sleep sitting up holding her feet in his lap.

Or he'd carry her to bed, which, she fought back a giggle over, she was kind of hoping for.

"Liv?"

"Hmmm?" She was much too comfortable for actual words.

"I'm going to loosen this strap because I don't think it's doing your circulation any good." He leaned in, carefully examining the shoe.

"Kay." She wasn't about to stop him, even if it did hurt when he pulled on the buckle. It was too sweet, too intimate for her to interrupt with something so trivial as excruciating pain.

After a few seconds of terrible pain, she felt him pull her foot free from the prison of her beautiful, intolerable shoe. She closed her eyes, moaning her appreciation.

"I'll never understand why you wear shoes that hurt." He chuckled to himself as he started working on the other buckle. "Geez, imagine how fast you could run if you wore sneakers."

She turned her head and caught his eye, smiling appreciatively. "It's hard to dance cheek to cheek if you can't reach."

He smiled, his eyes falling from hers as he blushed. For a moment, his eyes stayed locked on her feet as he pulled off her second shoe. "Feel better?"

She wiggled her toes. "Much, thank you." She watched his proud smile, as though taking her shoes off had required some sort of divine inspiration. Of course, with how much better her feet felt, she wasn't going to disagree with that idea.

And then, as she stared, Elliot's hands came up, wrapping their warmth around her injured foot. He started to move, very carefully rubbing the skin through her stockings. It felt like heaven when his thumbs pressed into the pad of her foot, relaxing the very spot that had endured the most torture during her walk.

Her head fell back, another moan escaping her lips. "God, Elliot, can you keep doing that forever?"

He laughed and lightly ran his fingers over her skin, tickling her. She jerked back from the sensation, an involuntary laugh morphing into a cry of pain as her movement jarred her ankle. And then, to Olivia's complete surprise, Elliot very gently lifted her ankle, one hand on her foot, one hand on her calf, pressing a feather soft kiss onto the swollen tissue.

His eyes were full of concern and compassion and something Olivia desperately wanted to label as love. She chided herself for the silly thought and then thought better of it and chided herself again for rethinking it. Because, even though he'd said it in the heat of anger, Elliot had told her in no uncertain terms that he loved her. The fact that he was pissed as hell made it even more believable in her mind.

And yet a precious few minutes earlier, probably less than an hour ago, he'd been hurting her, physically and mentally and storming away from her on the street. The delicious feeling sending shudders through her changed, causing her to shiver in worry. She'd given him the time he'd requested, but they hadn't talked. She didn't know if they were really ok or not. He had admitted that he had nowhere else to go.

Although, she certainly would have expected him to put her up in the reverse situation without needing a foot massage as a security deposit. And a kiss, well, that just seemed over the top if he were merely trying to secure lodging.

He replaced her injured ankle, carefully repositioning the bag of ice, and reached for the other foot. His fingers worked methodically, rubbing the sore skin until her body had no choice but to relax from the contact. Mostly his eyes stayed on his hands and her foot, transfixed by the sight of his body touching hers so intimately.

The idea brought a smile to her face, calling to mind a part of Pulp Fiction, the exchange about how men don't give foot rubs to other men's women. And she could understand why. She understood that no man, or woman either, could see them in their current position and not assume they were together. The smile grew wider at her newfound ability to make a mountain out of a molehill. She'd decided that by giving her a foot massage, Elliot was making a claim. Yes, according to Olivia Benson, foot rubs were extremely possessive.

So they hadn't really talked. Maybe they didn't need to. He'd said he was in love with her. She'd said she wanted him to touch her. They were settled on her couch, Elliot branding her feet while she watched him display ownership of her with a contented smile on both their faces. That really did about say it all.

Elliot's hands slowly stilled, spending a length of time trailing lightly over her body in a caress rather than a massage. She wanted to shout that she'd been right, that he had intended to mark her as his, that he was more obviously doing so by simply touching her. Of course, she'd have to admit that she was just as obviously allowing him to make that claim, that she was letting herself belong to him, because she hadn't stopped him.

"How are your knees?" His voice was soft, comforting, but it still startled her somewhat to here him after such a long time of listening to the almost silent television.

As with her hands, she'd forgotten the injury from the night before. She'd even put out of her mind his behavior in the bathroom, when he'd so painstakingly dressed her cuts and then cried and begged for her mercy. Between that and the loving way he'd danced with her, it only assured the idea she'd had of him from nearly the beginning of their partnership. It hadn't taken long for her to become well acquainted with his horrible temper, and very little more for her to be sure he'd never really hurt her, even considering the rough touch from that evening, he hadn't done any damage and he would have let her defend herself if she'd thought to do so. But in order for her to rationalize working with someone with such a short fuse, she'd long ago convinced herself that the emotional display of anger from him was balanced equally by a tenderness, a doting side of him.

In one day, she'd finally seen the full extent of his emotional range – from the terrible anger to the gentle love. Yet there was still one thing that alarmed her. The rage was nothing new and she wasn't really bothered by it since she was prone to the occasional tantrum herself. The scary thing, the thing that brought her entirely awake from her happy half-asleep fog was a question that had to be answered.

The times he'd be so loving – holding her and comforting her and begging for her forgiveness and the intimate way he'd repeatedly revealed his desire for her physically and especially the way he'd danced with her, when he'd held nothing back from her – they'd all been when he thought she had amnesia. Well, except for the dancing. As personal as the foot rub was, it wasn't quite the same as rubbing a certain other part of his body against hers and kissing her and making an attempt to seduce her. She needed to know when he'd known she was faking it. That would tell her if his feelings for her were dependent on the state of her memory.

"My knees are fine. I've done worse with a razor." She shifted a little, lifting her head onto the armrest so she could fold her hands together on her stomach. She concentrated on her apparent need for a manicure to keep the fear out of her voice. "How did you know?"

Out of the corner her eye, she saw his head turn toward her. "Know what?"

Rolling her eyes, she looked at him, realizing from his hooded eyes that he was half-asleep too. "That I had my memory back. How did you know?"

It took him a minute, a long minute in which he stared at her without blinking. "How did I know? That's a joke, right?"

"Did I say something funny?" She was offended and had she been able, she would have stood up and pretended she needed something from the other room in order to stomp some of her anger out. Instead she pulled up her legs to swing them from his lap.

But his forearm caught her shins, keeping her still. "If I had a twin brother, don't you think you'd be able to tell us apart by now?"

She thought about it and didn't get the connection. "Yes, I do. But twins are different people and there would likely be some physical differences between you."

He shook his head, smiling as though she didn't get the joke. "You're my partner, Liv."


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

His words reminded her of what he'd said to her, when he'd been talking to her "twin," the announcement that had so shocked her that her memory had returned. He'd said she was the only partner he'd ever have, that he'd quit his job rather than work with someone else. And she couldn't help but wonder if that meant he'd prefer to stay friends, so that they might stay partners too. She swallowed hard and said nothing, hoping he'd fill the silence since she was too crushed to speak. Hell, it was hard enough to breathe.

"I know you, Liv. I know how you look at me. I know how you carry yourself which, believe it or not, was a physical difference between you now and you yesterday." He reached over, unfolding her hands so he could hold one of them. "I even know how your breath hitches when you're trying not to cry, even when I don't have any idea why you might since I'm not saying anything that should make you."

Shocked by his last statement, she met his eyes and let him see the moisture there. He was right, of course. But she mentally argued that it would hardly take a brain surgeon to know that he'd hurt her feelings, even if he was denying knowledge of it.

His fingers laced through hers, his warm skin pressing against hers. "I questioned it, especially when you didn't say anything. I thought maybe I was wrong." He cleared his throat and finally pulled his eyes away. "I didn't like thinking that I didn't know you that well after all." He leaned over, making sure not to jostle her sore leg, and pressed his lips to the back of her hand. "But I do."

She had to laugh at his omniscient tone. "Oh, yeah? You know me that well, huh?" He nodded, showing no embarrassment whatsoever for his newfound proclivity to kiss her. "So when did my memory come back?" She issued the challenge, figuring it would come across as flirting. In truth, she was terrified because she needed to know some of his romantic display had been when he knew she was the audience.

He grinned at her, taking his hand back to reach under the blanket and run it possessively along her leg. "Right after I told you I'd never work with anyone else."

She shivered, but it was likely as much from his hand teasing the edge of her dress further up as from his verbal accuracy. Damn if the man wasn't good.

"That's why you made a beeline for the bathroom." He held her eyes as his hand dared to slide higher, setting her heart to race because he had to be a scant few seconds from finding out she was wearing stockings. Which, she prayed, would be the end of the discussion. The spoken one, at least.

"You were so nervous and upset that I wasn't quite sure because I've never seen you like that." He shifted slightly in his seat and allowed his other hand to caress her lower leg. "You wouldn't look at me after that so I asked you to dance. I knew I'd be able to tell if I could touch you."

She was about to scream from the desire his hands had so quickly spooled in her body. She really wanted to moan and encourage him to hurry the hell up, spurred on by the idea that he was shifting around to either relieve pressure on or divert attention from the raging hard-on she was hoping he had. But his words managed to sink through her hazy brain and the bullshit of his answer irritated her, more so because his hands were so not irritating her. "Like you know how I dance. Right. Try something slightly more believable, El." She had to force herself to do it, but she snapped her legs shut, ignoring the pain in her ankle and her disappointment that she'd successfully gotten him to relocate both of his hands to outside the blanket.

She was even more disappointed when he sighed, lifting her legs up carefully to get out from under them.

"Oh, come on, Liv." He shook his head sadly as he knelt beside her. "You have more confidence than that."

She still refused to meet his eyes as she readied herself for the "your friendship means too much to me" speech. She suspected it would be a doozy.

He reached over, turning her face to meet his, staring at her with so much adoration that it nearly made her cry again. "I knew I was right because you were so damn tense when I put my arms around you. I thought you were going to jump out of your skin, which is the way I always expected you to be if I ever dared come on to you."

She swallowed hard, trying to quiet her fears, needing Elliot to help her. "And it didn't occur to you that maybe I was just nervous dancing in front of a crowd without ever having danced before?"

He shook his head. "No, not once." His smug, conceited look, the one he always got when a pretty girl smiled at him, was firmly entrenched on his face. "Perhaps you've forgotten, but Amnesiac Liv kind of liked being in my arms." His grin widened and she started to wonder if it might take over his whole face. He'd kind of deserve it for being a prick. "And in my lap."

She wanted to smack him. Instead she raised one eyebrow. "I don't seem to remember you having much of an issue with her being in your lap either."

"Like I was saying, she liked me and wasn't the slightest bit tense when I touched her." He reached out, tracing his finger over her lips, only stopping when she shivered. "See? You're so tense I could bounce a quarter off you."

She glared at him, refusing to concede the point. "The crunches might have something to do with that."

He didn't bother to acknowledge her joke. His fingers continued to move, slowly tracing over her face, setting her skin to tingle in their wake. "And the way you said my name when we were dancing, that was the last straw."

She was trying to think, but failing whenever her attention attempted to move beyond the feeling of his hand on her face. "How did your name give me away?"

"It was just the way you said it. I knew it was you. It was different before, when you had no memory." He shrugged. "I can't explain it, Liv, but I knew it was you and you really should stop arguing because we both know I'm right."

Batting his hand away, she cleared her throat and promised herself she wouldn't beg him to make love to her. At least not in the middle of a conversation. At least not until he gave some indication that he might be planning such a thing. More indication than pawing at her.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She knew he could throw the words right back at her, demand to know why she hadn't told him, refuse to accept the answer she'd given him on the street.

"Sit up." He climbed to his feet, an embarrassed smile appearing when his knees cracked in protest of the length of time he'd been kneeling.

Grumbling and unhappy, she did so. She had to use her arms to keep steady since she had to keep one of her legs in the air. But Elliot reached for her, sliding his arm behind her back to support her as he sat down. Then he pulled her back across him, settling her upper body across his lap the same as her legs had been earlier.

One of his hands sought hers, the sheer size of it able to fold completely around hers. His other hand tangled in her hair, smoothing the short locks back from her face. "I didn't tell you for the same reason you didn't tell me. Because I wanted to tell you what I told you. I knew you'd have to listen without running away." He met her eyes for a beat while he worried his lip between his teeth. "It was easier to say it while we were both pretending, you know?"

She understood perfectly. She knew how much she'd wanted to hear those words, those words that she doubted would ever have been spoken if it hadn't been for the lack of inhibition of someone who didn't remember all the complications of their relationship. And stupid as she knew it was, she dissected his words until she could find something she knew he probably hadn't intended. She was used to running away and it was hard to resist her instinct. "It was easier to talk to me when I didn't remember."

He missed the imperceptible change in her mood. "You were different – innocent, kind of. The way I always imagined you would have been if you'd had a different set of circumstances."

Separating their hands, Olivia made a move to sit up, failing entirely when Elliot put his arm around her. She wasn't in the mood to snuggle, not with what she was hearing. It didn't even make any sense that he was trying, except that maybe he'd gotten so wound up on the dance floor that he fully expected she'd be resolving that situation. "You liked her better."

He laughed, assuming she was making a joke. "You and her are the same person, Liv."

"You just said she was different." She pulled his arm away from her, pushing herself into a sitting position. As much as she loved the feeling of leaning against him, she wasn't about to mislead him. And she wasn't about to have sex with him because he thought she owed him.

He let her sit up, but he reached for her, turning her chin to face him. "It was you. But you were coming on to me. You were flirting with me." He shrugged before he let go of her chin and dropped his eyes to stare at his lap. "I liked it, Liv."

His answer was exactly what she'd thought. He'd like her when she'd been different. When she thought about it, it was obvious. They'd been partners for ten years. He'd been separated from his wife for two of them. And he'd never once made a move on her or gave any indication that he'd appreciate her making a move on him. He was attracted to her physically, but that was where the attraction ended. "Because she wasn't like me."

"No, damn it!" He stood up suddenly, starting to pace the length of her living room. "Why are you doing this? Why are you picking this apart?" And then he was beside her again, sitting sideways to face her, holding her face between his hands, staring at her with tears welling in his eyes. "I wanted her because she was you, Liv. Because I want you. Because I love you."

Maybe it was hearing the words when he wasn't yelling at her. Maybe it was the honesty in his eyes. Maybe it was the fact that he'd laid it all out there twice for her without asking her to reveal anything of herself.

She'd never thought of Elliot as the more emotionally open of the pair. The idea brought a smile to her face. Because he'd known it all along. Because he'd done what he had to, opened himself up to her repeatedly, to get her to believe him.

She reached up, taking his hands in hers. "I'm not good with his stuff, El."

He smiled and squeezed her hands. "No shit, Sherlock."

"Neither are you, for the record."

Nodding, he settled back on the couch, using their joined hands to pull her against him once again. "Yeah, ok, so?"

"So what if we fuck this up?" She couldn't help but close her eyes, inhaling the scent of him deeply. A yawn forced its way out of her mouth, reminding her that the emotional roller coaster had been rather exhausting.

"We'll figure it out." He leaned down, kissing the top of her head. "Get some sleep, baby. We can talk about it in the morning."

She looked up at him, trying to smile seductively as another yawn spilled forth. "Sleep? You want to sleep?"

He chuckled, wrapping the blanket around them both. "That's all we're going to do until you're a hundred percent." He hugged her closer. "You're going to have to be able to stand up."

"Why? Horizontal works just fine."

He caught her hands again, lacing their fingers together. "If you can't stand on your own, I won't be able to tell when I make your knees give out."

His words sent a shiver through her. "And that's important?"

"Oh, yeah."

"You're still a tease." She grinned up at him.

"So are you." His arms formed the perfect cradle for her body as his breath fell across her neck.

"We'll see about that." She snuggled into him, deciding she never wanted to go to sleep any other way.

finis


End file.
